(121-05-31) Fishticuffs
Summary: What started out as a peaceful attempt at fishing turns into a (not so) epic battle, and then there is much amusement and conversation. And insults. Reachmen and Dornish are in the same place, that sort of thing is bound to happen.
Date: Date of play (31/05/2014)
Related: Other Derring Downs Hunt related logs.

It's afternoon, and the rolling countryside looks to be in fine form here as our road-weary travelers make their way from the Derring Downs' hunting encampment through a quiet wood that leads to their chosen destination. The River Mander. As the horses are being fed and watered, Riderch Blackwood has proceeded on foot with a large pack slung over his shoulder, in addition to his usual gear. For his part, the Riverlord has probably been more — at ease than Elionys has seen him in quite a while. Whatever he was chattering on about is cut off as his voice booms through the trees in a sonorous baritone,

"On to the banks of the Mander! From which salmon shall flee, and the perch bend knee, From the talons of the Dragon and the Raven."

This horribly silly snippet of a song was clearly adapted on the fly from something else probably more storied and heroic. Fortunately for anything resembling dignity, the bemusedly grinning Knight of Raventree Hall manages to salvage it with an adherence to tone that he can be proud of.

As they reach the edge of the trees it is confirmed first by the sound of rushing water and the glittering surface of the Mander itself that Abram Florent did not lie. Here is the river in all its glory. "Well. Here we are." He says, looking about the view, wide-eyed.

For a change, Elionys is quiet as she listens to the Riverlord chatter on about this and that, interjecting only the occasional word or thought here and there, but otherwise seeming content to let someone else do the talking. In spite of being so quiet, the Targaryen seems to be in good spirits, enjoying the fresh air and tromping through the woods, the whole business of it so novel to her.

When he bursts into song, Elionys first looks over at him wide-eyed and impressed, but quickly enough a grin appears, matching his. "I did not know you sung so well," she tells him, but the rising sound of the river serves as a sudden distraction, and she looks nothing short of delighted as they break the line of trees and the sparkling river stretches out before them. "It's beautiful."

First and foremost, Riderch's jaw shifts a little as he considers this with a half-open smile as he turns towards the Princess, still standing there overlooking the riverbank. Up in the sky, there's a sudden scream of a hawk as it dives downward towards the treeline in search of some manner of prey. "It is." He comments first — on the river, one would presume, as he ambles on down the gentle incline from the wood towards the riverbank proper. It's a notable thing here, he looks back, eyeing her presumably to see if she needs a hand but not being overly pushy with it.

"I didn't know, either. I have been — sort of remembering how that song went. I used to do that a lot, it was one of those little things that Nan encouraged. Mother of course always loved hiring minstrels, and father stopped objecting when she sort of demanded ones who knew or claimed-to-know the Songs of the First Men. Of course, you have to be, erm — careful with some of them." He doesn't elaborate, clearing his throat now as if it is a little dry.

"What about you, hmm? I don't think I've ever asked you what sort of arts you've been trained in?" He sets the pack down with an audible thump on the the ground, glad to be rid of the burden. This last bit is almost apologetic in tone, although whimsically so.

Elionys' gaze snaps to the diving hawk, following it's progress for so long as she can, and only once it's out of sight does she begin to move down the slope. Still in the outfit for the ride, the tall boots are solid enough on the grassy incline, but even so, when he looks around to check, she holds a hand out to him. "We always had musicians at court, different sorts from all over the world. I loved it when we would get them from very far away with exotic songs and stories. We had one man from Tyrosh once who was so strange, but so funny. He had all sorts of stories and songs, and would come to visit me and Neri to teach us, or, well… me, really, some of his language." She pauses a beat, then adds cheerfully, "He had a green beard."

The question is considered for a moment, "Well, I sing a bit, but not so very well. I can sew a little, and do needle point. Dancing. The sort of things you would expect a Princess to be taught."

Well, then. A hand is extended, in a workmanlike manner as he holds still enough for Elionys to steady herself upon his arm, even though it's sort of a gesture made without thought. As they make their way to the bank, he edges bulky pack with his own boot a few more feet towards what at least looks to be a comfortable spot. This done, it's his turn to listen as she speaks, canting his head to one side as he briefly turns to follow the hawk as well. "A green bloody beard?" This is really the first thing that grabs him here. "Is that what the East is really like?" comes a bemused response. "I suppose they have green wolves and cats there too. Maybe it starts out all bright and colorful to the East and by the time one makes it to the west, everything is just blue and grey." A man's knowledge of far-off places can only extend so far, perhaps he's heard this. Still, the man's idea of 'strange' appears to intersect with 'amusing.' "Well, you can speak it. I apparently paid enough attention to Maester Osgrey to learn the language of your people. And Nan taught all of us the Old Tongue of the First Men, although I think Aine knows it better than me." There's an implication there, and for a split-second his grin is supplanted by a thoughtful look.

But in any case, as he steps off now, he bends down to open up the large pack and rummages through it. All manner of fishing implements are there. A large pail, bait, two fishing rods, and assorted odds and ends. And some skins suitable for holding water or wine, and cheese. "Singing, dancing? Well — you'll forgive me for having blank expectations. You are really the only Princess I've had the care, err, fortune to know."

"Yes," Elionys replies with a laugh as the hand not resting on his arm lifts to indicate that it was, apparently a long beard. "It curled at the end, too," she tells him, grinning. "The world beyond our shore is strange and apparently very colorful. He said it was normal for men to do that, that you would see all sorts of colors. It's hard to imagine any of the men here doing that, isn't it?" Once at the foot of the slope, the hand curled around his arm slips away, leaving him to rummage through the bag and pull out the necessary supplies. "Will you teach me words in the old tongue?" she asks, sounding hopeful for a beat. "Truly, I had no great love for learning needlepoint, or sewing, or most of what they wanted to teach me. I did enjoy dancing some, but I've not used the skill on too many occasions." A few steps carry her right to the edge of the river where she crouches down, fingers dipping into the water. "It might be that I'm just not very good at being a princess," she muses, but it's humor rather than lament.

"Hm. Why stop with green, though? I've heard the Men of the East often display their allegiance with colors. I'm just imagining —" And suddenly, the laugh is infectious as Riderch lets a singular laugh rip, his chest shaking. "I'm imagining Old Donal Fenn with his beard already silver, streaking it with black and crimson. Oh, when I am Lord, there will be changes. Horrible changes that will shake the very foundations of my lands, I say!" This vow is given as he grins altogether goofily. He too is setting out supplies. And blankets, too, of roughspun wool. Royal hospitality.

"I will hear nothing of the sort." He jokingly admonishes now, addressing, well, not the Old Tongue but the statement on royal bearing. "You're probably better at being one than I would be, anyway. I wouldn't look so fetching in a dress." A snort before he's just a bit more serious-sounding, although not by much. The blanket is set out here. "I haven't spoken the Old Tongue in a long while. Except — well, to frighten Wildlings. Or try to frighten them. It's their language too, after all, those men from the far North beyond the Wall." He eyes her simply. "And the Old Tongue? I might not be the best teacher, Bel Mag Naich." These words are delivered slowly. It is a staccato, severe sounding series of words, but there's a certain defiant pride imbued in them. As he prepares to settle upon a blanket and grab a pole, he stops. "Great Lady. I am sorry, but there is no word for 'Prince' or 'Princess' that I know of amongst the language of the First Men. They did however have Kings and Queens."

"Could you imagine how colorful that would make the city?" Elionys asks with a laugh, straightening and turning to look at him. "It would be easy to identify who was who. Easier than it is now, because some of us choose to wear colors beyond those of our house." She definitely includes herself in this. The amusement remains as she's admonished, turning to face him, head canting ever so slightly as her gaze skims over him from head to toe. "I'm sure you would be lovely enough, if we found the right cut and color," she teases, the silly suggestion punctuated by a burst of laughter. As he prepares to settle on the blanket, she approaches it's edge, the amusement fading as she listens to the harsh sounding words that are the old tongue. "There is no need for you to be sorry for that, I am not so mad as to get offended that the people who created the old languages didn't consider my feelings or my position in the process of doing so," she tells him, grinning as she lowers herself onto the blanket beside him.

"I'll be in the great Sitting Room then, waiting for dullards to ask my my wisdom over stolen goats when I am of age." Riderch takes this silliness to its logical conclusion here at Elionys' suggestion, waving his hands in an exaggerated, ponce-like flaunt. "More wine, Beckwith! Hahahahaahahaha." This giggle is ridiculous, and he imitates some drunk highborn Lady he has probably seen once or twice, as he raises a hand for his imaginary flagon to be filled.

"I suppose one could make do with painting the city a few colors. I suppose the Red Keep can stay the Red Keep though, where King's Landing is concerned." He just laughs and laughs in time with her until finally the topic shifts, and he begins affixing bait to one of the poles, carefully going slow as if to be demonstrative before he hands it to Elionys.

"Oh, it's not so much as that." He finally offers, a little more muted but not quite abashed. "I think I told you before. You're the only Princess I know." And with that, he hands her the fishing line with a gentle gesture of proferrment. "Bel Mag Naich." He repeats, holding it aloft for her so he can work on his own. The bait's kind of a gooey affair.

And so it is here past the treeline in the lazy afternoon, by the banks of the River Mander, these two are seated, apparently taking on the bloody and hungry work of catching some approximation of dinner.

The falsetto impersonation of a Lady leaves Elionys laughing and nodding at once. "Yes, perfect, that's exactly what all Princesses sound like, you have clearly spent much time in company of them to know it so well. What aren't you telling me?" she asks, trying to feign suspicion and failing utterly. The fishing line he offers is eyed at first, but then taken with uncertainty of what to do with it exactly. "I wouldn't mind Oldtown being more colorful, the people and the buildings," she tells him. "I mean in their dress, not their behavior. We've had more than a few colorful people, as far as character is concerned." The words that he repeats are listened to carefully, brows furrowing as she attempts to repeat them. Attempts, some of the necessary harshness in the words is lacking.

"If you ever met some of my mother's entourage," Riderch opines, looking out at the gentle rushing of the river as it bubbles and shifts, "You would immediately know." The Riverlander clicks his tongue as he shoots Elionys a mischievious narrowing of his eyes which serves as a good substitute for further laughter. He's been doing plenty of that already. Blackwood works to set up his own line, but first and foremost he works vigorously at kicking off his boots. Which also involves unstrapping them and giving them a gentle toss with one hand a yard or so a way. Each in turn.

As those words he uttered are repeated, he does it more slowly. "I don't know if I am speaking properly. I learned from my old Nan who insisted that every syllable serve as a word in its own right. 'That is how the First Men spoke, you little bird'" he quotes in a stern tone of voice. "'Carefully, without wasting a single one.'" How far his bloodline has fallen, it seems. "The writing is its own thing too but — well, it was only on rocks. And things of import. Ser Kaspar Royce, I've seen, has a great old breastplate littered with runes." The topic of color is met with a simple, non-committal shrug. "I feel like painting Oldtown red too, for all the bloody blushing that's going on there." He doesn't linger on it overlong though as he finally notes, the man seems to understand something — he just handed Elionys a fishing rod with no instruction. And then he pauses, reaching over in a pantomime. "Hold it like so in the water. Just be careful and pull if you feel a tug." He hastily affixes his own rod now as he does just that, casting the thing into the babbling water of the Mander.

Kevyn had spent the morning in pursuit of small game. Rabbits and quail and the like. He caught a few - and cleaned them. It seems an integral part of hunting, so he did that bit himself. He's headed down to the water to wash up after, still a bit of mess from it, the odd feather stuck to his tunic along with the innard gunk on his arms. He keeps his distance from the fishers though, when he spots Riderch and Elionys, he does raise an arm to offer a wave.

The words are repeated again, as slower and more carefully, and this time, more accurate than the first time. Not perfect, but improved. "Ser Kaspar? You will have to introduce me to him so that I can see this breastplate of his, I would love to," she tells him, still holding the fishing pole entirely incorrectly. It's not until he mimes what she must do, and demonstrates it that she attempts to cast her own line out to the water. Probably not quite far enough, but at least she hit the water. That's something, right? The wave from the other knight is enough that the Targaryen turns, squinting at Kevyn for a moment before smiling brightly at him. "Ser Kevyn, hello! Have you come to fish with us?"

In response to Elionys' narration, the Heir to House Blackwood juts his chin upwards in a measured half-nod. "That's as good as it can probably sound." He proclaims, a little proudly one might note. "Each is spaced out. like that. And Ser Kaspar? He was in the last tournament — His aunt married one of my cousins and apparently turned my uncle from a disagreeable unhappy fool into a disagreeable happy fool." His grin is wide, teeth do flash. "But I hardly know him. A decent sort, though. Kept me from doing something stupid when Sylas Volmark's filthy carcass emerged on the campaign with the Starks."

Riderch narrates all of this, carelessly, with the detachment of a man who clearly admits to doing stupid things all the time. "He seems brave, though. I think there's some good blood, there." This little speech done, he looks at Elionys with a sidelong glance as he slowly demonstrates a decently proper-if-not-expert way to hold the line. At least he thinks he knows what he's doing. "Your back hand's only to steady it, remember." As he is about to reach for her pole, he stops a bit noting her sudden divergence of attention. "No dolphins in this river I'm afraid, Ser!" He shouts, his voice dripping with mirth. "But I think there are a lot of fish and not enough of us." He waves Kevyn over with his free hand, cheerily.

Kevyn bends down over the riverbank and splashes his arms in, washing them before splashing at his face. It's not very dignified, but it looks fairly refreshing, and he's washed the worst of the grime off by the time it's over. "Fishing?" He thinks on this. "I'm not much of a fisherman, truth be told. Hunted a fair bit with my father and brother growing up, but we fished little. I might give it a go, though. What sort of fish do you find in these waters?"

"If you think so, I should like to meet him," Elionys replies as she shifts her hands on the fishing pole, still not quite holding it right, but near enough. Or at least near enough that it's not that noticible when distracted by the presence of another. "I'm not much of a fisherman either. Or… fisherwoman? Either way, I'm not much of one and have no idea what I'm doing, so you won't be alone," she informs the dolphin knight cheerfully.
<FS3> Riderch rolls Fishing: Success.

"Mmmm. Well," Riderch begins, conversationally, "He's of some old blood too, apparently. They're distant from us, but they seem to remember some of these old, forgotten things. And considering the Vale is thick with Andal blood, that's no small feat." He pauses slightly as he opens his mouth. "And I say this as though my own mother isn't —" And you know what? Blackwood just drops this line of conversation as if he's in heavy consideration of the whole issue.

"You speak as though I'm some man who's spent his entire life aboard a boat and didn't have real fishermen doing that for us. I'm just the pushy sort. See? At this point, you hold it aloft, and —" He is holding upon the line with both hands now as his feet are dipped in the water. As his head lolls back to Kevyn though, he smirks again as the man approaches, indicating a large pack next to him. "There is water, wine, bread and cheese. And I think an extra line if you want to give it a go, Ser. As far as the fish present? Only know what Ser Abram told me. Salmon. Perch. Trout. And…carp." He makes a face at the very last one. He hates carp.

"I'll take the water and wine first, my lord, if you don't mind, and perhaps a bit of the bread as well. I can pay you back this evening. I got a fine fat hare, and he's being roasted slow over the fire as we speak." Kevyn does, indeed, go over to partake in the picnic beverages. "I'll watch for now, if I might. Perhaps I'll try the line later. 'Tis a fine day for it. I don't get to this part of the Reach much. Or much out of Oldtown these days." To Elionys, he chuckles, "Fisher Princess, perhaps, in your case, my lady. But I suspect we'd call you whatever you prefer, and gladly so."

"Compared to me? You are," Elionys informs Riderch with a grin, scooting forward on the blanket. She doesn't dip her booted feet in the water, but she does edge closer to it, which makes it a little easier to hold the pole correctly. The proposed names from Kevyn earn him a sudden grin. "I don't expect to be called by anything save my name, Ser, and if other names should come, let them do so naturally rather than by order. That's half the fun of those sorts of names, isn't it? If I were to command it, I'd rather like a twit."

"You're a Knight, Ser Kevyn. You can dispense with all that 'my lord' garbage. Please. I'll have enough of that in the future. For now I know who you are and you hopefully know who I am." Riderch begins, positively //bursting/ with good cheer. "Take what you want." He reiterates towards the pouch too. "Oh, and obviously —" This is directed towards Elionys, she too has a free pass, as if this were self-evident.

"I know what it's like not to leave. I went hunting with my sister and a few of the Stark Men who she's fallen in with. And this all brings a lot back to me." He confesses. Note that he doesn't partake himself just yet as he steadies the line. And jimmies it a little, as his eyes widen.

"Oho!" He begins, giving Elionys another sidelong glance. "'The Fisher Princess' has a certain ring to it I have to admit. This reminds me of the the river I pushed Olan Piper into once." Oh, uh-oh. It's story time. "Unfortunately I sort of paid for that one."

"If you say so my…Ser Riderch," Kevyn corrects himself, before gulping some water. He chuckles when Riderch repeats 'The Fisher Princess' byname. "You didn't suggest it, Princess, so I think you're all right. And there are worse names one could end up with." Like dolphin-related ones, he does not say, but it's definitely implied. He lifts his chin to try and watch the progress of their fishing poles. It can't be very exciting, but it seems to interest him enough for this moment.

Elionys twists 'round to look back bag that contains water and wine, but she doesn't reach for any of it now, both hands remain steady on the fishing pole. "You're right," she agrees, grinning at both Riderch and then Kevyn. "I didn't, so use that if you will, or not, I leave that choice in your hands, Ser." When storytime begins, she looks curiously to the Raven Knight, listening and paying probably too little attention to the line in the water.

"PFFFFFFT. Fisher Princess. It has a certain legendary air to it that matches a certain legendary air to —" Well. Blackwood suddenly falls silent as he takes stock of the situation. To this, Riderch shoves his boot out of the way as he starts to tug at his line. It's..it's… It's a thing. A CARP. How rewarding. It splashes out of the water and he still manages to tug on the line but one would have to be completely blind not to notice the pointed look of disappointment on his face as he yanks the thing up, as it flaps on the hook. Still, he reaches forward. In the bucket it will eventually go. He gives it a good press downward as to not prolong the poor creature's suffering. And drops it in the bucket after taking it off.

"So my brother and I were on the banks of the Honeywine when I was young. Playing around like we did, visiting the Pipers. Tewdric used to be a sort of distant boy. He got in a disagreement with Olan Piper who was my brother's age. And — well. He shoved him. Tewdric tried to argue with him, knocked him on his arse. So I shoved Olen into the river because he wasn't even paying attention to me. And he started bloody screaming!" Riderch laughs a little. "The problem with it all was, his older brother Bran was watching us the entire time. And he beat me bloody as a result. My mother was furious."

This childhood reminiscence is presided over as he casts his line again. "You know what she told me?"

"Oh, well done, Ser!" Kevyn stands enthusiastically when Riderch reels in the carp. His face only falls a little when he gets a look at it. "It's…err…well, ugly creatures make fine meals often, and I'm sure that one is the same." He gets himself some wine and settles back down, for the story. It draws a laugh from him as it's told. "Sounds like you stuck up for your brother, Ser, which is fine enough thing. What'd she say? Your mother, that is. I can't imagine mine would've been too pleased with me."

The thought from Riderch that is started, but not finished, it still wins a little smile from Elionys, gaze slipping over to and then away from the knight, to watch the water instead. She shifts her hand, accidentally pulling the line closer to the shore, closer so that it sits in water likely too shallow to catch anything, but she doesn't correct it. She probably has no idea, this is new territory for her. "Oh, you got one!" she nearly cheers, until of course she sees Riderch's face at the sort of fish it is, and then she's trying very hard to refrain from laughing as one hand reaches out to pat him on the arm a moment. "I'm sure you'll get something better next." The story that follows the disappointing catch has her attention more than the act of fishing, but she has no guess as to what was said, merely shaking her head and then awaiting the answer.
<FS3> Riderch rolls Fishing: Failure.

"Well done." Riderch's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, as the hated fish goes into the bucket eventually, removed from the hook with a massive, weighty sigh. He affixes more bait though and casts his line again. But the story is on his mind here. "I always stuck up for my brother and he — well, in his own way stuck up for me. Otherwise I'd be sitting and fishing with Elys Bracken right now." There's a bitter look on the man's face as he states this and the downward twist of his lips is something he doesn't even bother to hide.

As the line sits in the water, Blackwood leans back, and looks between Cockshaw Knight and Targaryen Princess with a slight clenching of his jaw. Elionys' mirth however is something that is so incredibly infectious to him that he does let slip a few choice laughs. "I am sure too. Whatever happens, I am certain we will not starve." He looks at the Princess' stance but suddenly shakes his head. "Oh, well. My mother. She's my mother. What she told me was something I will take to my grave. 'Little bird.' she said," He begins, affecting someone else's slightly more refined speech. "Next time be sure you push both of them in." And with that he throws back his head and howls. Until the line shakes.

Kevyn is taken aback by the howling Blackwood, but it's a funny tale and he joins in with a hearty chuckle. "Your mother sounds a…formidable woman, Ser. Did the Piper lads hold a grudge against the pair of you?" As for Elys Bracken, he looks over his shoulder, as if afraid the lady might've been nearby to hear that. She's not. That he can see, anyway. Who really knows what terrors lurk in these woods.

That infectious cheer only brightens when it wins over the Raven Knight, leaving Elionys looking pleased as he carries on with his story. "There is a certain sort of wisdom in that," she replies, sounding terribly amused at the reply. "She does sound formidable," comes agreement with Kevyn's statement, following his gaze to the trees, then back to the water and her ineffectual attempt at fishing.

"She's — something, all right." Riderch notes, working very hard to swallow any trace of laughter as he notes this with a carefully drawn-in breath and giving his head an affirmative nod, up then down. This was to Elionys, but he does manage to answer both Cockshaw and Targaryen with the same line of thought. "They did. But they're Pipers. You have to understand with Pipers, they're decently solid men who take everything in stride. It's respectable." He's not holding a grudge, although there is a slight note of sourness indicating that this is not all of the story. And oh yes. The line shakes. He starts to lean back, pulling one foot out of the water and lodging it uncomfortably in the gravel in front of his blanket. And then?

Disaster strikes. It's a trout. Not a carp, but a trout. A big, fat trout. One that whips the fishing line to one side and it goes flying through the air unfortunately with a trajectory that indicates that Elionys might be the unfortunate victim of a flying fish. Riderch's visage is frozen in sudden, wide-eyed horror.

"And…what happened next, Ser?" Kevyn asks Riderch, seeming to get the idea there's more to the story. He doesn't really get a chance to press more, though, as the flying trout is a distraction. "Bloody…!" He jumps to his feet and…just kind of gawks at it. It's a fish. What can one do, really?
Arrick arrives from the Plot Room Hub.
Arrick has arrived.

"Yes, what happened—" Elionys' words are cut off, not by the flying fish, but by the cry from Kevyn. Lips begin to part, surely to question him about it, but it's about that point that she finds herself attacked by the trout, which first inspires confusion, and then a squeal as both hands release her own fishing pole to slap the slimy, wriggling thing off of her. It's at the same time that she tries to get up, but the heel of her boot catches on her skirt, only managing to get about a foot off the ground before she drops again with a thud.

FS3> Riderch rolls Reaction: Failure.
<FS3> Kevyn rolls Reaction: Success.

"Well, what happ— BLOODY FUCKING ANCESTORS!" It's all sort of a blur, really, as Riderch's muttered curse comes from his lips, as the big trout flies through the air and at Elionys. At the end of his line. Oh Riderch. There are things in life you don't understand. The three of them are seated by the River Mander and the Riverlander and Targaryen Princess both were apparently fishing, putting the procured creatures into a pail. He drops his line as he launches himself across the way towards Elionys in an attempt to grapple a big, fat trout as it flops against her. Have you ever been hit by a fish? It's disgusting. Don't ever let it happen to you.

And he pushes himself to his feet awkwardly and leaps across Elionys, landing mercifully a few feet away from her as he scoops an arm about and tries to grab at the horrible, vicious trout. And misses it. He gets up again, ignoring the fish for now as he tries to pull the princess out of the way as he extends a hand on to hers and tries to pull her back.

Kevyn was sitting a little off from Elionys and Riderch, partaking in some water and wine that'd been brought along and watching the fishing. The flying trout brought him to his feet, though. He springs, awkwardly, into action when Elionys falls, chasing after the fish on the riverbank. It's a slippery thing, though, so this involves a lot of undignified hopping around and diving on the muddy turf. Finally, he manages to get a grip on the thing. "Ugh, bloody seven hells!" he grimaces, as its tail thwaps him in the face.

<FS3> Riderch rolls Brawl: Success.

When the trout flops it's way off of Elionys, and both men are chasing it, she is left half-sprawled on the blanket with both hands held up, as though the slimy little beast might try to make another attack. It's one of those hands with which Riderch is able to grab and pull the Targaryen up and back, looking at first nonplussed, and then once she's safely on her feet and away from the fish that Kevyn is left to wrangle, she bursts into laughter. What else can you do, after being slapped by a fish?

All the commotion down by the river interested Ser Arrick and thus the Dornishman left the roaming party of his countryfolk and headed down to see just what what going on. After a few slaps through brush and annoying tree limps the knight comes upon a small group at the bank who look to be battling a fish! Arrick calls out with a laugh, "Watch out! You'll scare all his friends!" The Dornishman then makes his way down, looking to join in the battle if needed.

What can one do, really? Other than eye the fish like it is a scion of your worst, blood-sworn enemy? Riderch Blackwood knows exactly what to do as his voice rips through the stillness of the riverbank and again launches himself at it, even though Kevyn more or less has the matter in hand. More or less. And then he just stops. One hand almost reaches for the thing, punching at the massive trout, before shaking his head vigorously and arcing his gaze down at Elionys with a nervous, drawn manner. The kind that melts in exactly five seconds as she laughs. As he himself collapses into barely-coherent laughter. "S…So…sorry prin—.." He can't word it all. Because, there is always one rule of laughter. Fish are funny. And always will be funny. Riderch pulls the Princess upwards and looks over to the Reach Knight to see if Ser Kevyn Dolphinsbane has become Ser Kevyn Troutsbane.

And then the Dornish arrive. "I am afraid we're being invaded!" He finally yells, after checking on Elionys one final time. And he's trying very hard to contain himself in the face of the whole situation's absurdity.

"Seven hells!" Kevyn exclaims again, when Riderch starts fish-punching. He drops the trout, which is now a lot more…dead or unconscious from being punched. If it's not dead now, the whole being out of the water thing will get it soon enough. "Err…thanks, Ser Riderch. Are you all right, Princess?" He looks at Elionys with some concern. Trying not to laugh. Trying. A snorted chuckle does escape him, though, especially as Riderch's braying continues. And oh, look, the Dornish are here. Kevyn can't help but side-eye them. He's not in the best of states anyway, muddy and face with a red mark from where the rather large trout tail-slapped him. "Err…Ser Riderch caught us some dinner," he understates.

There is a bit of a red mark on Elionys' cheek from the initial assault, or possibly a result of her own flailing. It's hard to say, but one cheek is certainly more rosy than the other, but even so, she seems to be in good spirits. Her own laughter subsides, one hand clutching against her stomach and the other up, trying to wave off the concerns. "I'm fine. Fine. I… if this is how fishing goes, those who have told me of it before have grossly understated the excitement of it." The hand that's up reaches out to give Riderch's arm a gentle squeeze, and then she steps around him and toward the water. It's only then that she truly notices the presence of others, looking curiously to the Dornish knight. The new arrival is given a quick smile before she turns back to the river and crouches down, both hands dipping into the water to rinse away the lingering fish slime.

And here, Riderch looks specifically like a fishing boat that had a spear shoved in the side of it. He stands there nonplussed, open-mouthed, and the only words he can utter are a simple mantra. "I am so, so, so sorry, Princess." One more good thrash of the trout is given, as it's shoved angrily into the pail. Still though, he lingers by Elionys and gives her a couple glances in askance. "It's — not normally like that. I swear. Otherwise…" He was talking a lot earlier but now his conversational faculties seem a bit compromised. He looks at that red-cheeked image of her own visage and finally he snaps a little loose, allowing his own self to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all.

"I suppose we have a lot of newcomers to show up, hmm?"

Arrick smirks down towards Ser Riderch as he notes of a pending invasion, Arrick's response is telling however as he calls out, "Not yet!” The knight the moves around the edge of the ongoing battle between the trout and Ser Troutsbane and he chuckles as the trout is punched into oblivion or maybe unconsciousness, "That's just the way we do it in Dorne! You let the fish come to you! Good form ser!" Arrick smiles as he steps on past the troutsbane and to the actual bank, just beside Princess Elionys saying, "This freshwater must be full of these things, I've never seen such a battle…" Arrick then squats down to poke his hand into the water, curious as to the smell and make of a Reach river compared to what he's used to.

Kevyn watches Elionys with some surprise, when she doesn't come all to pieces after being muddied and assaulted by fish. Maybe he expects such things of ladies, or princesses, or both. But, once he gets his mind around it, he seems relieved more than anything else. Though Arrick's words do make him flush. "As Ser Riderch says, it's not usually like this. That was a…umm…fearsome particular sort of fish. It's been slain, though, so…should be all right now."

"I'm fine," comes the softer reply for Riderch before Elionys sets to the business of washing her hands, and when that is done, she cups water between both hands to rinse off her face as well. This process is repeated a few times, leaving her front splattered with water, but at least it's only water and eventually dry. "I've never seen such a battle either," she admits, a grin slanted in Arrick's direction. "Thankfully I had two brave knights with me to see the beast subdued before it could do any damage. Do you think I ought to bestow any honors upon them for their bravery in battle?" The grin remains as she looks around to Kevyn, and then Riderch.

Arrick stays squatted by the water and says over his shoulder to Ser Kevyn, "Fearsome indeed." The knight's head quickly turns back to the water to face any possible threats as he lets his hands continue to splash about. As Princess Elionys poses a question of gratitude the Dornish knight's attention stays on the water as he stands finally, saying to the Targaryen, "Why yes, if they've saved you from…" Arrick motions towards the Formally Fearsome Flopping Fish and continues, "That! You should honor them!" Arrick offers a bow to the pair of northrons, "You have my gratitude as well, I cannot imagine suffering the indignity of a Reach fish slapping me in the face…"

As of now, the only honor bestowed upon Ser Riderch is the open hand he slaps against his forehead in his hunting gear. Sighing in a composed manner, he finally settles in to the gravel and the covered beach with a horribly deep sense — well. He spends a good long while looking a but nonplussed, "I am sure." He lumbers off glancing at Arrick as he does so with a slight bit of familiarity.

"Err…that's not necessary!" Kevyn says, firmly, to Elionys when Arrick speaks of 'honoring' them. "Actually, I should see if they've finished cooking my rabbit. And…err…other things. If you'll excuse me Princess, Sers." And with that, he heads back to camp. Flush with victory over the trout or…something.

Elionys spends a few moments merely watching Arrick, attempting to discern whether or not the comment about Reach fish was an insult or not, though whatever is decided, she doesn't comment. Instead she looks around to Kevyn, the smile returning. "Very well, Ser Kevyn, but you have my thanks nonetheless," she calls, lifting a hand to offer the departing knight a wave. With reasonably clean hands, and face, she pushes up from her crouch by the water and turns to look at Riderch, smile edging towards gentle, reassuring. "At least it wasn't a carp," she suggests, stepping in the direction of the Raven Knight.

Arrick nods to the departing Ser Kevyn and then turns his attention to the Riverlander, who as far as Arrick understands should be a professional at fishing, which from what Arrick understands is all Riverlanders do. "Ser Riderch, Princess Elionys speaks the truth.. I've heard of these carp jumping about and one of those to the face…" Arrick pretends to cut his throat with a grin, "I promise to keep this little moment to myself, for fear of meeting such a fate." Arrick takes a few steps away from the water, following Ser Kevyn's path away. He stops short though and turns back eyeing the pair still down by the river.

In response to all of this, Riderch sits upwards with a sharp jolt of his back, suddenly looking — well, let's face it. He looks bemused, clenching his jaw slightly to one side as he looks between the little gathering of them all. Both Kevyn and Arrick and his grop. "At least —-" Well, he's got nothing to say to this initially, other than a bit of a sour proclamation. But what's he going to do against a fish? "At least." He says, finally, his makeshift fury spent. As he climbs back down upon the riverbank moments afterward, once he's absolutely sure.

Elionys moves nearer the riverlander, though keeps at distance enough to let him brood in peace. Instead she turns back to the Dornishman, smiling a little. "And to think, when they told me that going on a hunt could be dangerous, I thought they meant the other animals, but never the fish. I shall consider this a harsh lesson learned." At least. Those words draw the Targaryen's attention back to Riderch, head canting to the side just slightly. "My friend, nothing bad has come of this little adventure save for a tender cheek, which will no doubt be fully recovered in a short while. There is nothing to be upset over."

Arrick ponders that a moment as he takes a seat on a dry piece of the embankment. The knight then leans back on his elbows and wonders aloud, "There's quite a few things in these woods I worry over, beyond the rather plentiful hare and gardener snake." There's Reachmen in these woods…Arrick smiles towards the Princess as a light wind sends his hair fluttering about. "In Dorne there's a constant worry of viper pits, scorpions and the always present vultures overhead looking to make a quick meal of you if you fall sick out on the dunes." Arrick then looks down over the water and laughs remembering the situation of only moments before, "I suppose I'll move trout up on my list of worries." Arrick then looks towards the Princess and asks, "If I may ask Princess, what brought you out on this fine trip? I have no issue with your kin but there's men on this trip who do."

There is a brief, but quiet exchange between the Princess and Riderch, which ends with Elionys giving the Raven Knight a warm and reassuring smile. "Worry not, Ser, all is well," she stresses this and then turns, making her way toward Arrick instead, letting the Riverlord have his time to recover from the terrible trout battle. "I believe I will take the risk of angry trout over those of your homeland, Ser, if you don't mind me saying so. The risks right here seem mild by comparison." The question, though serious in nature, inspires a flare of amusement in those purple-hued eyes. "If I may ask, Ser, are there not more men on this trip who take issue with you, than those that take issue with my kin? I may be a Targaryen and tainted, in their eyes, with the reputation that comes with it, but this is the Reach, and you are a Dornishman."

The million dragon question! Arrick's features don't change as he's asked the most obvious question of the day, "Well, I came here in a effort to better understand these people. Dorne has been at war with the houses of the Reach and Stormlands for centuries. I shall only come upon my 24th nameday, this year." Arrick shifts onto a single elbow as he continue, "Furthermore, I cannot hope to understand the whims of the seven. They judged the trial and while I loathe the outcome I cannot go against the seven…." Arrick then pauses and looks to be thinking aloud, "I came here to see what they're like when not within the walls of place such as Oldtown. I want to know if they're as I've always thought or if they have more to them." Arrick finishes up and then asks again, "So what brought you out here? I guess a dragon in the woods doesn't sound AS silly.."

It is the big question, and when the answer is given, Elionys listens to it carefully. "Of course there is more to them," she replies, but it's with a smile that she says it's obvious. "There is more to them, there is more to you, and there is more to me than the rumors and reputations will ever claim. They are men with the ambitions, and desires, and hurts of any other men in Westeros, just as you." And now the question is turned back to her, the corners of her mouth tugging higher as she considers the answer. "I was asked, and I've not been on a proper hunt before. Who am I to turn down the chance for such an adventure?"

The Gargalen nods off the thoughts of the Reachmen about the woods and turns his attention to the second part of the Princesses' words. "Adventure you say? I like the sound of that, it seems Princesses are especially interested in getting into things they've never experienced before." Arrick chuckles a moment and then mentions, "I'll see if Princess Mari will tell the tale of her escape from Sunspear back at the Dornish pavilion. It's the one where your cousin Ser Daevon saved her and she fell for her eventual betrothed." Arrick chuckles at that last part and then asks, "Do you have any other stories of adventure?" The Dornishman lifts his elbow off the ground and grumbles as its covered in dirt. The sand of Dorne doesn't stick to you everywhere you go, it just gets EVERYWHERE.

That's because all of the sand in Dorne is dry, or at least most of it is. This sand is damp, and likely why Elionys isn't sitting on the ground. Instead she moves over to the blanket laid out earlier, looking around to see if Arrick will follow. "Do I have stories of adventure? Ah, I'm afraid that I don't have very many, just an encounter with a dragon, and an encounter with a trout, which you just witnessed." She settles on the blanket now, carefully not to get sand all over it.

Quillian arrives from the Plot Room Hub.
Quillian has arrived.

Arrick pops up rather quickly as the subtle invite is sent and heads to the blanket where he takes a seat on the edge. Looking very interested he asks, "A dragon you say? Princess Visenya told me a story and I just could not believe it! She suggested I was calling her a liar but I figure that is just her way of defending herself from slights." Arrick turns his head to look out at the water again as it slowly makes its way past, "I'd like to see a dragon…From afar…Like flying up there." The Dornishman motions to the sky and shrugs as he looks back, "Tell me of your dragon experience!"

Both Elionys and Arrick are seated on a blanket on the bank of the river Mander, a couple of fishing poles and a bucket with water and a couple of fish within on the ground nearby. Riderch is likely somewhere in the woods nearby, possibly observing, or maybe talking to a tree. Some Riverlords do that. Usually only Weirwoods, but this is Riderch, so who knows. "It's true, Visenya has had more encounters with the dragon than I have, but I helped a cousin of mine go and feed it once. It was…" here she hesitates, searching for the right words. "It was amazing, and terrifying at the same time. It flew over and landed right in front of us, it seemed angry at first but I spoke to it and it seemed to calm, then it flew off to get one of the sheep that had escaped by then, and tried to feed us by dropping bloody sheep parts by us from the sky."

Where as some may be fishing at this venture, there has been some hunting, and it can be evidenced by a man in dark stained leathers, making his way along the bank of the Mander, heading North by his reckoning, with a thick brace of rabbits tied to his hips and a bow slung over his shoulders. Likely outside of his usual black garb, Ser Quillian Oakheart cuts a different more light hearted jib. Most likely, anyways. His whistle loud enough to hear, though it is certainly on key, as he walks closer and closer-headed in the direction of the blanketed couple.

Brows raise as the Oakheart comes clear upon Elionys and Arrick, and an amused look settles over his features. "There's a joke here." he comments aloud as a means to a greeting. "Anything biting?" No, Sers or Graces coming out. Alas for decorum. Always the first casualty of such outings

After a moment to consider the enormity, Arrick's eyes go big as he exclaims, "It came this close?" Arrick motions between he and the Princess and then asks, "What color was it? Why did it try to feed you? What did you say to it?" Arrick tilts his head and then smiles, offering an apology of sorts, "I apologize…Am I asking…" As the whistle rings out, interrupting the knight, Ser Arrick's eyes go wide as he searches for where it came. Finally, the familiar face of an Oakheart coming from the forest is noticed, a string of hares at his hip. As if a fire was lit under his rear the Dornishman rises quickly and responds to the Oakheart's question immediately, "I only just arrived ser." Arrick looks down at the Princess with a chuckle and offers, "The Princess did have a trout in her midst for a moment's time."

"It did," Elionys replies with a grin. "It's the dragon that's bothered Oldtown for a while, it's a grayish blue color, I suppose, with some yellow, and I believe it tried to feed us, rather than eat us, because it sensed that we were the blood of old Valyria. I just spoke to it in High Valyrian, I'm not sure why, but… well, it felt like the right thing to-…" If there's more, it's cut off as Arrick gets to his feet, though the Targaryen remains seated, instead just twisting around to look back at the Oakheart. "It's true, I did have a trout attack me," and the one red cheek may be a testament to that not-so-epic battle of recent. "Your Ser Quillian, aren't you?"

The amused look remains just so as Arrick hops up quickly, enough that the Reachlord gives a snort, light in passing before he is shrugging to Arrick's quick explanation. Instead his attention shifts to the Princess and her 'trout' story. "Did you now? I thought only a Tully was after your sister-or cousin, or grandmother." a jape at the expense of the ever confusing Targaryen family tree. "Well no matter, fish are easily dealt with. They die easier than…" Well Dornishmen, though Quillian has tact not to name it. "…Some people I know."

There's a brief glance over his shoulder before he is looking back towards Elionys, and there a bow of his head. "You'd be correct Your Grace, the one and only. I don't know many other knights that can command a Dornishman to his feet."

After listening to the man, ignoring his words about the ease of killing fish, Arrick finally lets off a laugh at the suggestion of a 'command' and says in response, "There's no command, just something to sitting below a great oak I find to be bothersome." Arrick turns to the Princess and grumbles, "It's the nuts I can't stand! They stick into you if you're not careful!" Arrick keeps his attention on the seated Princess as he remains standing, saying, "I find all of this to be interesting. I wonder how long it's been since a dragon burned an entire forest." Arrick's eyes turn back to Quillian, "This forest looks to be needing a little clearing, the brush is much too thick."

The jape at her expense elicits a bit of a blush from the seated Targaryen, and a slight shake of her head. "It's my cousin, Ser, and nothing more." That she knows of, honestly it's possible that the whole line is twisted up in some way that she's not aware of. "But I meant an actual fish, ser, rather than any sort of underhanded slight at a riverland house." It's statement rather than any sort of admonishment, and it's followed by a glance at the nearby bucket which contains what might be a roughed up trout. Her gaze goes back and forth between the men, pale brows creeping up, though she doesn't interject anything else just yet.

Quillian grins back towards Elionys. "They're cute when they're riled." said before, the knight's glance is back towards Arrick. "It's the spring-most of the acorns should be in the ground, so I cannot help you there, Ser. Though if you've no love for shade-it's no small wonder you Dornish love your sandy deserts." And like that he is looking back towards the trees for a moment. "Well, I would take that up with Ser Abram. His lands, I can say this. Fatter hares than you'll find outside of old town. Brush has it's purposes." If there's insults there the knight is clearly not rising to them.

"I doubt any Riverlander house would slight you, Your Grace. You're the seeming norm of people if not your family." so there's a compliment. "May I ask whose company you came with?"
Riderch has connected.

"I'll take it up with Ser Abram, he's very excited to talk about his land, I'll make sure to show him the wonders of less shade and what sort of game it'd bring." Arrick is put off by the man not rising to the slight digs and stays silent as the man questions the seated Princess.

Elionys doesn't touch the insults, she leaves that spat between the men, only glancing up at Arrick when he goes quiet, then back to Quill. "That might be so, Ser. Is that your way of saying that the Reach houses would?" she asks, but it's playful as before, not scolding, and she moves right along rather than wait for an answer. "It was Ser Riderch Blackwood that invited me on the trip. I hope that the presence of a Targaryen doesn't upset you too greatly, I know how menacing we can seem, but I assure you, ser, I mean you absolutely no harm."

"Well. THAT was bloody something, wasn't it?" There's a voice from the treeline and a familiar one at that. That belongs to a man. A man who left his fishing kit at the riverbank and strolls lazily down the path from the woods. It's Riderch Blackwood, and carries no fish, or instruments of fishing, thankfully. What timing. As he comes to a stop, he lets out a small cough. "She is so menacing that even the fish fear her fury." He says it like it's a joke. Or might be a joke.

And there's a slick smile to accompany a chuckle back to the Princess. "I believe my house has been accused as such. So-" a cough and Quillian is grinning again, before he is nodding. "Ser Riderch is a queer, but good man. I don't know many a follower of the Old Ways that are knights. My family is supposed to have a tie there, what with our vast orchards, and oaks.." a chuckle there before he is shifting his weight. "As for taking offense? Never, Your Grace. I find that Targaryens give me nice things for duties, or hitting their kin. So- should a challenge be nessecary-I could always use land like this." a wink there, before he is turning in the direction of the treelike.

"Ah, Ser Riderch!" called out. "A pleasure to see you again. I do hope you like coneys. I killed me a brace of em."

Abram arrives from the Plot Room Hub.
Abram has arrived.

"Yes, I believe it has, hasn't it?" but apparently the insult isn't one that's carried, especially not after the duel, because Elionys doesn't seem the least bit fussed. "Hopefully it's something that we can refrain from in the future, and I can tell you on good authority that I have no plans to challenge you over anything on this trip," she informs Quillian with a grin. "And he is a good man." Speaking of the good man, when she overhears his return, the grin brightens and she twists around to look at the approaching Blackwood. "I am, it's true. I had no idea my reputation had grown so great."

As the little group is gathered by the Mander, Riderch bounds back down towards the banks with softly bemused smile at Elionys. "Well — I did sort of warn the fish before we got started, so if there's blame to be placed, it should likely be on my shoulders." He delivers this oh-so-cheerily. He's not serious at all, is he? Of course, it's — oh, two men he recognizes. Arrick still and now Quillian. Narrowing his eyes, he looks between the Princess and the Blackrood. "I'd hope nobody's bloody challenging anyone over anything right now. I thought we'd exhausted our arsenal of bad ideas in the past few months, Ser." There's a bit of a playfulness to his address, but no real malice.

"Oh, I do not know, Ser." Quillian says with a bit of a wry smile. "I am always in a surplus of bad ideas. We've three Princesses here. I could kidnap one of them." he adds a bit thickly, lest the Dornishman take seriousness to the jape. Sometimes, you have to spell it out for them. As for Riderch, there's a grin given and he shakes his head both to him and his silver haired Princess. "Rest Assured, I do not foresee any duels in my future. I suspect I've enough laud right now to rest myself on."

Arrick, having been silent for a few moments finally chimes in at the suggestion a DORNISH Princess could be taken, he says to the Oakheart, "Princess Mariya would be an interesting target to kidnap Ser Quillian. Any who would dare would have the famed maiden knight hot on their trail the very same day." Arrick chuckles about that, seemingly looking for some sort of middle ground with the Oakheart.

"No challenges are being issued yet, Ser Riderch, but the day is still young and one never knows what might happen," Elionys replies with far too much cheer to actually expect anything like that to happen. It's likely she has no idea who she's with. "You could do that, Ser," this said to Quillian, still looking amused. "But those sorts of things rarely turn out well for the people involved. Or that's what the stories would have you believe, but I suppose fewer stories are written about the incidents that went horribly wrong." The mention of her cousin riding out to rescue Mariya inspires a bit of an amused laugh, and a slight shake of her head, but whatever thoughts she has, she doesn't lend them voice.

As though conjured by the very notion that bad ideas could ever be exhausted, Abram Florent and his bride arrive within earshot, having just returned from an afternoon ride, with several quail, one very pleased raptor, and a terribly spoiled little hunting hound in tow. "Did someone mention duels?" he wonders lightly.

There's a glance towards Arrick, before Quillian looks back towards Riderch, and there his hand slides over the top of his hair in gesture. And there he looks back towards Arrick. "Indeed, and I wonder where the famed Maiden Knight would look? If I recall his grand search for those responsible for Wickham's Nest, it would be three weeks late and lead no where. Much like a toddler's treasure map. Just lines and squiggles all over." A snort there. "Yes, remind me to quake in my boots about the Maiden knight, and worry for my sleep." PFFFTTTT.

Another chuckle and The knight asides to Arrick. "Besides, Ser. I've had the pleasure of having Mariya Martell in my company. I wouldn't take her again for a copper."

As Abram arrives, the bow on his shoulders is raised up in salute. "Hail Florent!" Quillian cheerfully calls, before he is reaching to his waist to hold up the fat rabbits he shot. No quails, but good game? "We did-or rather we're discussing the virtue of the Maiden Knight."

"Gods and Ancestors below my feet." A very non-Knightly oath is uttered by Riderch as he strolls congenially down towards Elionys, with only the most skeptical of glances towards Quillian offered. Arrick's greeted again nonchalantly with but a wave of his hand. "I would hope we could spent three or four days without doing that." There's a bit of a pause as he starts pantomiming something, a raise of his hand as he maybe works his fingers through the air in front of his eyes as he looks at the Blackrood. It's a curious gesture, but an unexplained one.

Looking down at the Princess, he finally offers a laugh. "You know, I think I keep doing these things wrong." He says to her buoyantly. He is about to say something else as the Florents arive, looking back between the barely-filled fish pail and the Reachman and his wife. Oh yeah, and all the talk of Targaryens is ignored. Yup.

At Quillian's 'Hail Florent,' Abram's new bride, all kitted out in a beautifully tailored plum-wine hunting habit with her dark hair braided and coiled in a crown, responds, "Hail, Blackrood!" There's a dimple to one side of her smirk. She picks up the aforementioned, spoiled hound as he gambols around in circles of spastic delight, tail wagging into a blur like the wings of a hummingbird. "Tyrell, darling, not everyone is going to love your muddy paws." She doesn't seem to mind them, however.

"It seems that leaves two princesses for you to kidnap," Elionys remarks to Quillian with visible amusement at the whole notion. "Just know, I can be very difficult when I put my mind to it," she warns the infamous Blackrood, but any attempt at sounding ominous is wholly ruined by the grin that follows. Her gaze is drawn up to Riderch, brows lofting curiously, but whatever question was going to be asked is put off in favor of the arriving hosts. For this, Elionys climbs to her feet, smiling at both Abram and Valerity.

Arrick snorts as Ser Daevon's expert search and hide skills are put out into the open. Recovering from the laugh still in his throat the Dornishman offers, "Well, then let us hope that he is never tasked with finding anyone…ever…again…" Arrick's head turns as Ser Abram and his newlywed bride, Lady Valerity, arrive on the scene. Arrick offers a simple nod to the pair and feels sort of naked without his own belt of hares or bucket of fish. He'll have to outdo every single one of these supposed hunters.

Valerity sets Ser Muddypaws Tyrell down to sniff and harry the ankles of all present, dropping a curtsy as Elionys stands. "Please don't rise on our account, Your Grace. You do Derring Downs a great deal of honor with your presence." She flashes the princess a quick, shy smile.

Quillian beams a grin at Elionys. "Don't worry, I think I am done antagonizing your family. Besides, whom would they send for me? Ryzael?" And there's a bit more laughter from the Blackrood, before he is clearing his throat and shaking his head. Yes, Quillian finds his jokes to be the most amusing. Even if they are not.

The Blackrood looks back towards Arrick, and he laughs. "If I were a Dornishman, Ser. I would take this opportunity to steal a bride." And with that he is looking back to the sudden appearance of muddied hound. Crouching, Quillian offers a hand out to pet at the beast's head. "Oh he's of fine stock.." though whether or not Abram or his sweet wife catch it, is unknown.

"You are extremely difficult. Riderch chimes in unbidden to Elionys after she speaks to Quillian. "To offend." He's still doing that odd thing with his fingers as he spies Quillian but seems to remember that somewhere in the back of his mind he should probably offer an arm to the Princess to help her up. Not that she actually needs it. He's middling at this whole Chivalry concept sometimes. Probably a First Men thing, some would say. "Gods know, I've managed to keep her company."

At Quillian's joke though, it seems he cannot resist, and there's one little good-natured ribbing that he throws at the man. "I always wondered what it would be like to drink out of a skull." He observes. To no one in particular. Arrick gets a half-snort at the mention of Daevon's legendary searching skills but really that is all he's going to get.

Now that Valerity has stepped forward, he nods his head at the Lady Florent proper. "Good to see you in good health since your — well, that was quite a betrothal, Lady Valerity." Blackwood is not breaking his general track record of grinning.

"Now now, my good Sers," Abram notes with a jovial tone coloring his 'admonition', "It is for the best that the bold Maiden's Knight did not accompany us. After all, these days shall be a great contest pitting the forces of civilization- and Ser Laurent- against the cunning of beasts. Who could expect him to pick sides?" A flippant flourish of one hand as he sketches a bow to those assembled, beginning with Elionys.

Tyrell yaps happily at Quillian and play bows, tail working so furiously that is wags his whole back end. He pounces and dances around the Blackrood and then sits very prettily, chest out and head cocked. Love him. Can to haz treats, plz?

"Thank you, Ser Quillian. So nice to see you, as well. Though I cannot claim any credit. The drama, foolhardiness, bloodshed and near deathiness of it all are strictly my darling husband's doing." Valerity has a rather deadpan drawl of a delivery, though truly merry blue eyes soften the jibe, and her dimples are never far behind.

"No," Elionys' amused gaze returns to Quillian for a moment, silvery blonde curls swaying as she shakes her head. "No, I don't imagine that he would be the one to come looking for me." Who would, she doesn't venture a guess. No help is needed in getting to her feet, and once there, she touches Riderch on the arm very briefly, but it doesn't linger, nor does her attention, which instead moves on to Valerity. "The honor is mine, my lady, that you both allowed me to join you all on this trip." Not that they were asked, exactly, but that's details for another time. "I can't say how nice it is to get out of the city, I do so far too rarely for my tastes."

Arrick looks over the Oakheart and responds, "Well, one Princess has less than a year til her wedding night, another is mourning a a rather crushing blow to a chest plate and…" Arrick peers over at the dragon in his presence, who he doesn't try to catch a look from while saying, "The thought of another dragon be sent off to Dorne just doesn't seem likely." Arrick folds his arms and says plainly, "I'm more likely to find the fabled white stag out in these woods than a bride."

"With Laurent, we get a beast amongst beasts." Quillian chirps up again from where he continues to give Tyrell scratches and pets. The Blackrood is a dog person, who knew? More petting is given and a bit of wrestling of a hare from his jaws. "Well, and good. I'm in a mood for killing things. As you see these rabbits were but an appetizer." A grin there and he looks over towards Riderch. "It's quite simple, and good if you have a decent cutler. Should you need one, I can give you my man's name?" offered with a raise of a brow. "Skulls give a good bowl for mead. More you can hold, really-better than any goblet.." And there he's gone on long enough.

Up he stands and looks back towards Valerity with a grin. "Well I always compliment him enough. Allow me to bestow this hound on you." A grin. "Thank you for hosting me and my sister. We are ever pleased with our relations with house Florent, and look forward to our many, many years of lasting friendship." As to Arrick's words, Quillian clicks his tongue. "You've a year, son. Don't waste it."

"I have a gift for foolhardiness," Abram claims with a sage nod in response to Valerity's jibe. "One of my finer wualities, I've been told." Riderch is given a sidelong grin and knowing nod after the Blackwood's last words, without explanation. As his lady is conversing with the Targaryen, the Knight of Derring Downs joins in on the heels of Arrick's words. "Ser Arrick, I've brought along a fine Uplands hawk- one of those great raptors I'd mentioned prior- for your use on the morrow, should you like. Too small to carry off a princess, but large enough for more diminuative game."

It would appear that whatever had ruffled the odd Riverlander's (literal and proverbial) feathers has abated, and Riderch Blackwood is all crooked smiles as he gathers his things now. Were someone nearby listening, they could hear a stomach growling. His. As if there would be any guess.

"We are always happy to have you," Valerity tells Elionys. Then, laughing as she's handed back a wriggling little hound, "All of you. Hopefully in increasing comfort, as time progresses." She stops, sliding a sidelong-and-down look at Tyrell as the dog puts a muddy paw on her cheek. Really? "I think Abram may have given me a dog in order to engender my maternal instincts," she says to the princess. "This may have been a miscalculation."

Arrick smiles towards Ser Abram and says quickly, looking excited at the prospect, "I look forward to letting this raptor loose." Arrick motions to Ser Quillian and his belt of hares as his excitement fades, "The Oakheart you invited may leave us SOMETHING for our falcons to retrieve, if a Princess is out of the question." The Dornishman jests of course, these grounds are teeming with life but any chance grumble at something Ser Quill has done is a positive in any Dornishman's book of life.

"I'm glad for it," Elionys replies to Valerity, looking terribly amused as she's given back the wriggling dog. The comment that follows elicits a bright laugh from the Targaryen. "It may have been, by the look of it," more laughter follows as she steps nearer the Florrent Lady and her dog, one hand reaching out to try and scritch the dog behind the ear. "Though he is awfully cute."

Abram chuckles aside to Valerity's quip, before noting to the Gargalen, "You will not be disappointed, Ser. You may recall I named gyr falcons as one of the three most powerful breeds of raptor on either side of the Narrow Sea, and while buzzard hawks may want slightly for diving speed, the Uplands hawk is one of the largest examples of buzzard hawk. True monsters on the attack," the Florent boasts with a smile. "And take solace in this: should you truly find a white stag, knights all across the Reach will keel over from jealousy."

"I left Squirrels, Ser." Quillian states before he is slinging up his bow again. "I should take these back and have them cleaned, in case someone besides myself cares to dine upon a fat hare." A grin and he gives a tug of his forelock as means of farewell, before he is pausing and looking back to Riderch. "While we're on this trip-see. I'd like a moment of your time?" This said to the other man, before he is turning to tramp off. "I'll return t' the hunt shortly-or catch up with you all anon." Carrying rabbits on your hip are a detriment if you're after other game. Somehow Deer aren't fond of the smell of killed animal creeping on them.

"Time is something I've plenty of, Ser." Riderch says towards Quillian, his head inclining at a slight angle as he watches the man go. There's a quizzical look practically frozen on his face. It doesn't stay for long though. His head lolls to Abram and Arrick as they talk of raptors; he cups his hand under his chin, his thumb rubbing against it. An eyebrow shoots up but for now he's listening. Just listening.

Tyrell is overjoyed to have his ears scritched, and squirms to get a better look at who's loving on him, tongue lapping vigorously at the air in an attempt to lick — just about anything. He winds up mostly smacking himself in the face, though he does manage to lick the princess's hand once or twice. In the process, his paw slips off Valerity's cheek, leaving a nice streak of rich, black earth.

Valerity tries to scowl at the little hound, but can't quite. There are still dimples involved, which tug her intentions askew into a rueful smile. "Yes. He is cute. When he behaves. And quite the little retriever, despite that my husband will tell you I've spoilt all the usefulness out of him."

Abram grins and sends a lazy two-fingered salute to the departing Oakheart, with a smile and word of, "Quill," in parting. "Keep an eye out for the best hill to fortify, while you're our tomorrow. Rather sure I've found the right one, but wanted your eye, too." Talk of spoiled hounds and usefulness draws his eye and deadpan comment, "Nonsense, has a more ferocious predator ever been seen by Gods or men?" A chuckle. "She is fond of the little fellow, that is use enough for me." Then it is back to Arrick and the subject of hunting.

As Ser Quillian heads back to camp, Arrick offers after the man, "Thank you Ser Quillian, squirrels are a fine treat in themselves!" Arrick smirks as he turns back to the more interesting Ser Abram. "Ahh yes, I definitely wish to see this hawk in action. I may have to take one home with me to Dorne." Arrick peers back up towards the path that Ser Quillian took and he offers to those present, "Speaking of Dorne, let me see if I can convince Princess Mariya to join us, maybe Princess Ellia as well. They've spent far too long within their pavilion and I'd like to see them out and about these beautiful grounds." Arrick smiles at Ser Abram and Lady Valerity, offers a nod to Ser Riderch and to Princess Elionys he says, "Until we meet again, be careful with the trout coming from these waters." Arrick grins and turns about, following the path previously trekked by Ser Quillian and Ser Kevyn before him.

Elionys laughs as her hand is slobbered on, and immediately turns said hand so the slobber can be wiped off on the pup's fur. "Well see," she says, glancing at Abram with a grin. "Entirely useful in his own special way, aren't you?" It gets woefully close to baby talk at the dog, but thankfully she stops there, scratching the dog a couple more times before her hand drops. The words of farewell from Arrick get a little laugh as she twists around to look back at Riderch. "Where was he with that advice an hour ago, mm?"

"Step well, Ser." After Quillian goes off, Riderch stands a little straighter, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he juts his chin upwards towards Arrick bemusedly. And then his arms fall slowly to his sides. And then he just coughs. It's a very dry cough as his eyes trail to watch the man go. And then — OH HI PRINCESS. His gaze just shifts to the Targaryen and for a moment he gives her a look that is somewhere between indignant and apologetic. "Maybe this is why there's so much Anti-Dornish sentiment. I never understood it before, he quips, and he just can't hold a serious expression any longer. A long, loud laugh wheezes out.

Valerity scrubs the mud from her cheek, succeeding mostly in redistributing it, and sits with Tyrell in her lap. The furry fellow flops against her shoulder and happily pants, having got the spazzes out, for now. "Oh, Seven, did you get fish-smacked?" she asks Riderch, with a sympathy that — well, it exists. Despite her grin and barely in-check laughter.
Arrick has disconnected.

"Have the Dornish turned the fish against you, Ser?" Abram wonders with a broad smile of Riderch. "A cunning race, the Rhoynar." A dip of the head to the departing Arrick, and the Florent knight steps around his sitting wife to recline on the ground himself, behind her. Bending around to the non-dirtied cheek, he bends his neck to touch a brief but brazen kiss to the side of his wife's throat, before drawing out a kerchief to assist in de-muddying Valerity's cheek.

"This explains it all," Elionys replies as she retreats a few steps so she's standing nearer the Blackwood knight. "And now I fear you've been turned against them too. They'll have no friends left at all by the end of the trip," she laments in an entirely non-serious fashion, words chased by a dramatic sigh. The question of fish-smacking only gets a bit of a laugh, but the Targaryen offers up no helpful hints as to who it was that got attacked by the fish, leaving that story for Riderch to tell, or not.

There is a pail by the riverbank. A pail with a couple of fish in it, as it were. A decent-sized carp, and a massive trout. The trout's head looks — well, it's not quite intact. Were Abram and Valerity to look that way, it might be eye-catching.

To this, Riderch's hand is lifted to his mouth, stifling another pointed sort of cough. There might be a smile there too, but it's really hard to tell. "Well — this one can't be laid at the feet of the Dornish, Ser." He pauses a beat. "Lady." "I would hope that Lord Tully didn't get wind of what I did there as he might consider it a personal insult, but.." And with that he takes a quick step towards Elionys himself. "This long-suffering Princess seems to attract the worst mishaps when I am around, I am afraid." And thus, the legend of Riderch Troutslayer was born.

Valerity lids her eyes for that brazen kiss, and blushes, though she clears her throat rather quickly on the heels of all that. Bad husband. Down boy. Still, she turns her cheek to his attentions, letting him wipe away the mud, and gently sets down a contentedly sprawling Tyrell. She leans back against Abram, comfortably, with intimate, affectionate ease, and lifts a lazy, amused eyebrow at Riderch's explanation. "Did you and the fish have words, Ser?" she wonders. "Were blows exchanged?" And, because she cannot help it, "Fishticuffs, as it were?"

Abram belatedly comments, "And my lady is mistaken, alas," propping himself up on one arm, and stretching his legs out to the side as the knight lounges at Valerity's back, content in his impromptu role as backrest. "I did not gift either raptor or hound to encourage any maternal instincts, it was simply a shallow excuse to continue bringing you hunting." The legend of Riderch Trout-slayer earns a broad grin and raised brow as Florent looks to Targaryen, "What says your Highness: is Ser Riderch a curse upon you?"

One beat later, as his wife;s words sink in, Abram breaks out into a sharp bark of laughter.

"I don't know that I would say I'm long-suffering," Elionys points out to the Blackwood Lord as she turns to look at him, clearly amused at his version of the events. "Recently-suffering?" she suggests an alternative, but it's with an obvious fondness for Riderch. The pun, as terrible as it may be, makes the Targaryen burst into sudden laughter as she turns back to Valerity, mirth bright in her eyes. "That was terrible, my lady," she informs her, but the words are carried on laughter that eventually subsides. "Ah, I don't know that I would say he is a curse upon me, Ser. It may be that I'm a curse upon him, or we've mutually cursed one another."

There are a lot of things going on here, and a lot of things the Riverlander might open his mouth to interject, but a curious thing happens. As Valerity makes her — well, witticism, the man's mouth hangs open and he practically howls with laughter, enough to likely scare nearby game into thinking a wolf is on the prowl. "That's — ugh. Please, Lady. That was one worthy of my mother." The erstwhile Troutslayer looks between the two Florents and finally gives Elionys a slight apologetic look and there's a flash of color in his cheeks.

"Maybe it just seemed long." He says, slyly. "As curses go — well..?" He just has nothing here. But the Princess gets a tight smile all her own. And it's throat-clearing time again.

Valerity grins abashedly and lowers her lashes, but seems rather pleased with everyone's appreciation of her low humor. "Well, your mother is clearly a lady of impeccable taste," she says to Riderch. She slouches down a bit, making the most of her humna backrest, and cranes her head to regard him. "We are quite accursed, as well, I think," she tells him. "I suppose there are worse fates."

"Mutual curses are the best sort," Abram opines with a chuckle to Elionys' comment, once the merriment over aquatic pugilism has subsided. Regarding Valerity as she cranes her neck for a look at him, the Florent knight nods and rolls his topmost shoulder in a light shrug. "I know you have cursed me more than once," he agrees with a crooked grin. "Entirely undeserved, of course," Abram claims with a look of thinly affected innocence between Riderch and Elionys.

"It seemed long? I'm not sure whether or not to be offended," Elionys informs Riderch in a low voice, just loud enough to carry, but it's said with another grin, so clearly she can't be all that offended. The amused grin is turned on first Velarity, and then Abram. "I suppose if you must endure a curse, it's better to be with someone else, that way you're not alone in your suffering." As to whether or not Abram deserved it, she doesn't say anything, but Valerity is given a curious look.

"My mother — well, let's just say she's had a lot of time to perfect her skills in that area." The Riverlander with the angry black raven-on-red crest upon his tunic says this matter-of-factly towards Valerity, still amused. On the subject of curses, though, mutual and otherwise, and he just looks over towards Abram, with a tentative nod — which doesn't last long as he processes this little bit from Elionys and his head whips about to regard her keenly. And the man's just flustered. "Oh, that's not what I meant at all, what I meant to say was..Maybe I should just not say anything more at all."He salvages what he can of a wry grin himself as he takes another step.

—and then all the players had to go sleep. The end.

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