(121-07-21) Three Birthdays
Three Birthdays
Summary: Visenya, Deavon, and Dhraegon celebrate their birthdays.
Date: Date of play (21/07/121)
Related: Related Logs None.

The Dragon Door Manse has a large walled garden behind. The tall stone walls have iron spikes topping them to prevent climbers, and a heavy double oak-and-iron gate leading into the alley behind. It's quite solid, though there is a little door in it that one might open to look out. Near that gate is the stables, with an attached mews on one side and kennels on the other. There's a small paddock for the horses behind the stables, and in front of it a space for training at arms, with a simple pell as well as a more complex practice dummy that can pivot when struck. These utilitarian areas are separated from the rest by a lower, and gateless, wall. Orange trumpet-creeper grows over it in most places.

Between this wall and the garden is a great fire pit, ringed in glossy black stones, each cut to interlock with the next and engraved with the image of a dragon. They're all in slightly different poses.

Nearer to the Manse is the garden proper. Its has winding stone paths and is planted thickly in flowers and trees. Most of the blooms range in colour from fire-orange to blood red. Deep purples are also included in the garden's otherwise limited palette. The pride of the plantings is an enormous flowering quince tree, some thirty feet tall — not large for a tree, but vast for one of its type. Clearly it has been pruned for generations to take on this form, single-trunked, with its branches curving up and then down in a fountain shape. Each of them nearly touches the ground and is heavy with bright red-orange flowers. One can step through them to stand hidden under the umbrella of blossoms, shaded and cool.

Most of Oldtown's grand manses have a fountain at the center of their gardens. Here there are only a few small ones, here and there along the paths. At the center there is, instead, a black stone pavilion, standing in the open and unshaded by any trees. It is seven-sided, with arched doorways on its East and West walls. It is otherwise glazed, including its domed roof. The glass is black and clear and red, pieced together to form the three-headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen. The image is repeated on the floor inside, in red jasper set into the black marble. The pavilion houses long curved benches of that same black stone. It gets tremendously hot inside.

It's Visenya, Dhraegon, and Daevon's birthday and time for celebrating! If there's anything to be said for the Targaryen's it's that they put on a good spread for a party. There's a large selection of drinks and other refreshments, with servants that bring them around. The aroma of smoke and smouldering meat fills the air. Animals on spits are cooked over a huge bonfire. Colourful lanterns. Servants with fans. Music playing merrily.

Malcolm turns up early with two presents wrapped in red silkl kerchiefs. he is wwearing his most formal outfit, the one wiuth the minicape.

Daevon's not a huge party person in all honesty, but here he is, dressed in light silks suitable for the heat and basking in the sun like the dragon he is. When Malcolm arrives though he smiles and steps over, playing the role of dutiful host. "Malcolm, how wonderful that you could come."

Malcolm gives him a warm smile, "How could I miss your Birthday?" He offers Ser Daevon a suspiciously bottle shaped gift, which does, in fact contain a bottle of his Grandmother's precious strawberry cordial. The other black silk wrapped package is rectangular and roughly palm sized.

Daevon takes the gift from Malcolm, peeking inside to see what it is, his eyes lighting up. "Thank you! Please, help yourself to refreshments. There'll be entertainment later."

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Malcolm gives his shoulder a squeeze. "Happy Nameday, and may the Maiden make your sword swift and your aim true."

Of course, it's a party, and somebody has taken the liberty of hiring a minstrel. A gangly fellow in purple-and-silver, who is banging on a lute.

"There was a horde of smelly Ironmen, off the coast of Dead Men's Glen, with salty beards and rotten teeth. And gods know what they wore beneath!"

Malcolm eyes the minstral, "What an unusual choice of entertainment." He goes to fill up a plate, being nearly always hungry. "Did you hear Lord Loryn and our Andy killed the Questing beast? It's a bit of a disappointment for Tellur, he wanted to see it himself, as it sounded improbable to him."

Daevon shakes his head. "No, I didn't hear. That is well done of them then. It was causing trouble?" He glances over at the minstrel a moment, then back to Malcolm. "He's not one of mine."

Malcolm laughs softly, "Your Visenya has interesting taste then. The beast is apparently something that just turns up for the Festival of chivalry. I can only hope Tellur gets a chance to poke at the head. We none of us have seen it yet. It's getting taxidermied for display."

"They were strange men with strange appetites — whiskers all full of squirming lice! But after a scrap with Harren the Black, Aegon's might did throw them back! I said ho, ho, and hey! The lads are on their way!" The minstrel continues his cheerfully horrible song which suddenly has a rejoinder from the trees, holding a winecup in hand as he steps away from a barrel — the figure is a stiffly-walking Riverlander in black-and-red armor, despite the heat. Riderch Blackwood is here, and he clearly knows the song.

"With their swords stained red and their spears held high, Harren Hoare learned how to die!" And yes, Riderch joined in on that, before he pauses, waving at the purple-and-silver clad minstrel furiously trying to get the man to cut it off. "Mourt. Mourt. What did I tell you? Wait til they're in their cups before starting on that one." He scowls a little as he spies the assembled crowd. "Ahem. So, happy nameday, Prince and Princess. I took the liberty of borrowing my mother's favorite singer. That might have been — hasty." The lanky minstrel makes a face and strums his lute as he bows, flamboyantly.

"I also took the liberty of relieving the Quill and Tankard of a few barrels after liberating it from a terrible monster…Whose company I am quite fond of. You all can thank me later, for having not to patronize the Fist and Falcon."

Daevon laughs at Riderch's words to the minstrel. "THank you most kindly. It does mean a lot that you would borrow a man of such importance. And for the barrels. How are you?" He nods at Malcolm. "I shall look forward to seeing this creature."

Malcolm was about to eat some rice, but then the minstrel is singing about "squirming lice." Malcolm lowers his spoon. Catching sight of Lord Blackwood, he laughs and shakes his head, clearly amused, though just as clearly off his feed. He murmurs to Daevon, "I fear I must excuse my self. Best wishes for the coming year.

The third Birthday person arrives, pale Targaryen face already flushed from what is likely some premature celebrating. Prince Dhraegon Targaryen is wearing his striking and fashionable orange, yellow, and black outfit and carrying a large tankard of custom chocolate stout. Servants roll in the rest of the barrel for the party goers to enjoy. He rushes over to Ser Daevon and attemps to give him a big friendly hug. His voice is a deep bass, "Happy Name Day, Daevon! Where is your sweet sister?"

Daevon steps back away from Dhraegon, tense and concerned. "Ah. Happy Name Day to you too." It's an awkward greeting though.

Delwyn leaves gifts for the twins with the servant who shows him where to go for the party. Fine silks, lovely to behold. Apparently the young man has an invitation. He comes out to the garden tentatively, and he doesn't look entirely comfortable. The golden brooch he wears gleams, displaying the blazing sun of House Tarth.

Rather than come from the manse, Elionys saunters along the path from somewhere near the back of the garden. Today she wears a simple, crimson gown of a lightweight silk, sleeveless and cinched at the waist with a series of silver chains. In one hand is a glass of wine, and from the other dangles a white flower that she twirls idly between two fingers.

Dhraegon's face falls when Daevon backs away. His arms drop and he pouts like a child. "I brought special, one of a kind ale…." But then he sees the youth with the Tarth house pin. He bellows, "Delwyn! Come meet Ser Daevon and Priincess Elionys!" He bustles over to her, "I learned a new way to hunt slugs with traps!"

"Lord Delwyn," Daevon greets when the man is closer. "A pleasure to meet your acquaintance. Please, help yourself to refreshments."

Delwyn's attention snaps to Dhraegon, and a fair measure of tension leaves him as he makes his way over to the large man. It's Daevon he greets first however. When he's called Lord, he pauses a moment, then swallows, bows low, and says, "Ser Daevon, it is a true honor to make your acquaintance. I wish you the happiest name day." Lord Tarth's accent is Riverlander with a smattering of the Stormlands on some of the vowels. It sounds like he's trying with little success to suppress the former.

Dhraegon explains to his kinsman, "Lord Delwyn here is the younger brother of the late Lord Rhiasart Tarth, but his uncle holds Lord Rhiasart's seat." he talks a long drink of his chocolate stout, and giggles, "You must try some of the Mallister's brew. I am ordering several custom blends for my upcoming wedding."

"Mmph. I wouldn't say 'importance,' really, but Moarne's good at what he does." Riderch narrates. The Heir to House Blackwood did poach a bard from House Mallister for this shindig, after all. Mourt gets a look from Riderch and starts playing a less bloodthirsty song, strumming on his lute.

"Oh me? I'm fine, Prince Daevon, an—" He stops a moment, eyeing Elionys as she strides on up, the armored Riverlander suddenly stands a little straighter. "Princess." "I'm doing well." He lets it settle at that. "My nameday is in three days, actually. Don't talk about that, much." He gives Delwyn a curious glance as he stands there, but for a moment while also studying Dhraegon. There's a pretty hefty crowd gathered here.

Looking over towards Dhraegon again, Riderch bounces on his heels. "If you want the best Mallister has, you want fivefeather Honeywine. But it's not as good as Blackrush Gold. That much I will guarantee."

It is unsurprising that Visenya would be late to her own party. The Princess emerges from the manse in a leisurely manner, as if she were not late at all. She has chosen an airy gown of intense royal purple that intensifies the color of her eyes. A diadem of silver graces her brow. Her short pale hair has been covered with a thin veil of myrish lace, giving the illusion that it is still long, and simply covered.

"Thank you," Daevon replies to Delwyn. The awkwardness doesn't leave him, he looks between Delwyn and Dhraegon, nodding absently. "I'm sorry for your loss," he tells Delwyn. He gives Riderch a smile. "Ah, happy name day then if I don't see you on the day."

Dhraegon gives Lord Riderch a big goofy smile, and though he doesn't actually know him, the mountain of as Targaryen comes at him with arms open for a big friendly hug, "Happy almost Nameday! I am Prince Dhraeghon Targaryen!"

Delwyn stands ramrod straight as Dhraegon mentions his brother and uncle. It's the very height of uncomfortable propriety, that stance. He inclines his head to Daevon, though, and the sad smile is as genuine as it gets. "Thank you, Ser Daevon." Riderch captures his attention, sidelong, and as he shifts to step out of Daevon's way, he comes to stand beside Dhraegon where he can get a better look at the others. When he smiles Visenya, the smile he offers her is much broader, and there are dimples. Gods. The dimples.

Elionys gives Dhraegon a slight smile, hand lifting to wave to him. "Uncle." The greeting to him is somewhat tentative, but the smile relaxes and warms somwhat when settling upon Riderch. "Ser." She keeps her distance yet, especially when the Riverlander is swept up in a hug, gaze sweeping uncertainly around at the others. Not so much out of concern, but simply finding herself in the company of unfamiliar figures.

Well, fortunately, Riderch is used to random people trying to beat him with horrible blunt and sharp pointy instruments, so what could possibly go wrong here? He just shrugs a little as Dhraegon does the deed and manages to retain his composure with a manner worthy of a man of somewhat noble bearing. "Well that is who you are, then, Prince." He says, trying not to 'oof' too loudly. He almost succeeds, but coughs slightly "Ow — my rib — sore.." He finally coughs a little, trying to squirm his way out. Eventually. There are glances to Princesses — first Visenya, who earns a nod, and finally Elionys — the look is a little wide-eyed.

Assuming he survives, he will take a breath, still giving Delwyn a few curious glances. Must have been the accent. For now though, he takes a step towards Elionys as soon as he is able. "You know, you should meet my uncle Hugh."

Dhraegon seems not to notice Delwyn's discomfort. He hugs Riderch enthusiastically, though luckily not so enthusiastically the poor man can't breath. He smells of lavender, vanilla, and chocolate stout. Then he is coming at the poor Princesses for moire hugs, "Happy Nameday, Visenya! Hugs all around!" The big Prince is dressed in a fine and fashionable tunic of orange and yellow, with black hose and accents. He is waving about a big tankard of chocolate stout, from which judging by his flush, he has been drinking liberally.

Jennifer looks in in the party, she smiles softly as she looks from one person to the other, a cup of the chocolate stout in her fingers as she sips it lightly.

Visenya lifts her hand to give Delwyn a light little finger wave, and accompanies it with a smile. She moves along the crowd, returning Riderch's nod with one in kind, and pausing to chat with a small gathering of guests. And then Dhraegon is barreling towards her for hugs. She holds up one hand quickly, "Now, Prince Dhraegon." As she speaks she wisely moves to the other side of a table, "Sometimes hugs are not appropriate. Like when you barely know someone."

Dhraegon's face falls as Visenya dodges the hug, emotions as transparent as a child's, "Even on Namedays?" Then he spots the brewer, "Lady Jennifer! Come meet Lord Delwyn of Tarth! He has wood!" Because there can be nothing embarrassing at all about a bellowed announcement like that. Like a shark of hugs, he keeps coming at Princess Elionys.

Delwyn's smile broadens at Visenya's wave, and he relaxes enough to give her a little wave back, and for that moment there is excitement rather than nervousness in those guileless puppy eyes. Ah, but Dhraegon, who is indeed magical, startles him out of that, and he eyes the man. "Prince Dhraegon," he says delicately. But he's got nothing else to add to that. He licks his lips and offers Jennifer a bow. Maybe it'll hide his cheeks going all pink. "Lady Jennifer," he says.

Perhaps it's because it's not her nameday that Elionys thinks she's exempt from the hug-attack, or perhaps it's that she's distracted. "Your Uncle Hugh? Is he like—" wait, ack. She turns to look in what was the spot in which she'd seen Dhraegon last, except he's not there. HE'S MUCH CLOSER, close enough to capture the unsuspecting Princess in a hug.

"He took the Black." Riderch advises Elionys, quietly. "Probably for the best. It's what —" Um. Allright. The admonishment that Visenya delivers is taken in stride and there's a certain quizzical gaze shot at Jennifer but for now, the Riverlander — well, the one wearing the colors of one, takes a few stiff steps towards the carriage wreck that is about to become another collision of a hug and waggles a finger at Dhraegon. And Elionys. And tries to tug on her shoulder. Maybe he succeeds, maybe he doesn't, but let the Gods witnessed that today he tried to do something.

Jennifer looks up as her name is called, she blushes slightly as she moves closer to the lord. "Greetings Lord.." she curtsies before she looks over to the prince "my brew is finding you well?"

"Lord Delwyn of Tarth?" Visenya levels her gaze on the poor lord in question. She does not look pleased. "Funny." She says as she picks up a glass of arbor gold, and has a little sip, "I recall that he died in a horrible accident. Now is that true or is it not, /Lord/ Delwyn?"

Delwyn glances up at Jennifer from his bow, and he holds her gaze for a moment with a soft smile. But then Visenya addresses him, and she doesn't sound pleased. Uh oh. He rises from his bow and clasps his hands behind his back. "Princess," he says oh so delicately. "That was my brother, may the gods hold him in their grace." He lowers his gaze like a boy who knows he's been bad.

Dhraegon lifts the poor trapped Princess in a spin hug, giggling merrily before putting her down, "Did you know slugs like beer the way people like beer? I have set traps all over the garden!" Lady Jennifer has cleverly captured his attention. Now he is coming at the poor Mallister for more hugs, squealing his delight, "It's the best ale, ever! It has given me so many _ideas_!" He says, presumably in support of Delwyn, "He looks just like Lord Rissert, doesn't he? And so much like his father, who I saw at Kingslanding once…"

Jennifer of course rates lower then Princesses when they are talking so she slowly smiles to Delwin then backs away from the pair, there is no need to really be too close to the crazy royals if they do not have to be. She smiles then as she moves onward heading to Riderch.

Sorry Riderch, you tried, but Elionys is captured and has the stuffing nearly hugged right out of her. The hug isn't so much returned as she sort of holds onto Dhraegon as she's spun, then retreats a few steps once returned to the ground. Blink. "I… had no idea," she replies, gaze moving from her Uncle to — Sorry Jennifer, there's a royal over here too — Blackwood Knight. "He took the black, did he? Well, I'm sure the Night's Watch is glad to have him."

Curious glances are still shot to Jennifer. "Wait a moment. This wasn't what I sto—borrowed from the Quill, was it?" Riderch interjects, suddenly. He whips his head about towards Elionys and he frowns a little bit but the Targaryen Princess gets an arm extended to her, by the Blackwood man who stands just observing the whole thing playing out like a slow-motion carriage crash.

"Heh. He's an old man and drunk three out of four times you talk to him but he's happy to be on the Wall apparently. Or so he says. My father hates him. That seems to be a common thing, really." Riderch laughs roughly.

"Your brother?" Visenya says in mock astonishment. The princess begins to walk around Delwyn as he speaks. Circling him. Like a predator might circle her prey, "So I am to understand that you are not Delwyn the weaver, but Delwyn son of the late Lord of Tarth? So, you lied to me." She leans in slightly. Close enough that Delwyn can smell her light floral perfume. "When I was sad, and vulnerable. Tsk tsk, Lord Delwyn. That was unkind."

Jennifer is far away from princess wrath for now and she looks to her cousin. "Hello Riderch, i do hope you are not stealing my brews …" she gives him a warning glance before her eyes look to Elionys. Her eyes just glance before she looks back to Riderch "i wont be staying to long it is quite a trip back to the oldtown"

Delwyn resumes his ramrod straight, carefully practiced posture, looking almost like a soldier standing at attention before his superior as Princess Visenya circles him. "It was not precisely a lie, Princess." Lowering his gaze, he says, quieter, "I grew up in the Riverlands, and there I was a weaver. It was better for me to hide, but since it has proven impossible, I felt it was time to embrace my heritage." He lifts his gaze to seek out eye contact as she come round again. "I would never wish to be unkind, Princess."

Visenya stops in front of Delwyn, and tips her head back to look up into the weaver turned nobleman's eyes. "Why would you have to hide?" Her brow scrunches faintly in confusion, and then her eyes widen slightly. "Oh dear." She places a hand over her chest where her heart is. "That is most unfortunate. You are legitimate, then?"

The steadying arm is accepted from Riderch, a small smile angled up at the knight after a moment. "Well, as long as he's happy, it has the added benefit of keeping he and your father apart." She looks around to Jennifer curiously, brows lifting slightly. "Is this your cousin?" she asks, not of the woman, but of the Blackwood lord.

Dhraegon is done tormenting people with his hugs. He refills his tankard and wanders back to where Viserys looks to be about to devour Lord Delwyn. "Someone tried to assassinate him last week. Accidents are terrible." he sips his ale, "My parents had an accident."

"It's a terrible place. Never go there. Swamps, and lots of bones." Riderch notes towards Delwyn as the minstrel cranks up again with some song about killin' lots of dudes against impossible numbers.

"They outnumber us ten to one, still, I love the odds—" Yeah. That's what's going on there.

"Oh. Cousin. I heard —" Well, whatever it was that Riderch heard is left buried for now. "I stole nothing of yours if that is what you're worried about. Hm. I merely — well, let's just say Mistress Marath at the Quill and Tankard got a hefty recompense for some of her lost business." Whatever that recompense is is likely between Riderch and the Mistress herself. No doubt he probably paid through the nose.

He then pauses a beat as he looks between Jennifer and Elionys. "I believe so. It's my mother's side. You can tell by the penchant for drink." Which is a trait he proudly displays. Really. "And my uncle's a decent sort, a little moody but who wouldn't be, in his situation?" He ventures saying something further but merely chokes as Dhraegon lets slip the secrets of the miracle that is his life.

Delwyn glances to Dhraegon, and he awkwardly patpats the man on the arm. There… there. "I am sorry for your loss, Prince Dhraegon," he says. He eyes that tankard longingly, but no! No, he's being lordly. Lordly and damned uncomfortable. Looking back to Visenya, he says, "So it would seem, Princess. I was not made aware until recently. It was thought best I not reveal myself because…" He nods toward Dhraegon. "But it's as he says, someone made an attempt on my life, and there is no point keeping secret now." He looks like he's about to say something else, but his attention turns to Riderch. "Where, Ser? The Riverlands?"

Jennifer chuckles a little and she nods to Elionys before she nibbles on her lips "we lost mother to a raid …a few years back havent seen him in a while." She nods to Riderch "dont be a stranger, father and I are building a home in oldtown"

Dhraegon absentmindedly tries to hand Delwyn his tankard. To Riderch he says, "It's why I never learned to ride." He looks genuinely distressed and contrite, "Lady Jennifer, I'm so sorry. I forgot."

Jennifer smiles then to the prince "I will come meet with you after your party your grace.. thank you for having me."

Elionys is quiet as she watches the exchange between cousins, and once Jennifer is gone, her gaze turns to Riderch. Nothing is said for a few moments, and then a faint smile returns. "So you made a deal with the people at the Quill and Tankard? I don't know why, with so many deciding to swim or take boats in rather than fight Ser Prospero, I'm sure they've not lost too much business."

Arriving late is Malicia with two neatly wrapped squarish packages in her hands. She slips into the garden looking around curiously. "So this is how they throw parties down South? Interesting." Her head tilts and her gaze roams over those present with a wild intensity to it. The short Bolton lady steps further into the garden looking unsure of exactly what to do with herself now that she is here.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Prince Dhaegon." Visenya says this with a lot of sincerity. It appears that the Princess has a sort spot for those that may be called damaged. Then again, it's logical. Many might say the same of her.

That said, Visenya turns her attention back to Delwyn, "Do you have any proof of your parentage? Anything with which to press your claim?"

"By 'made a deal' I mean 'threw a sack of Silver at them.'" Riderch confesses to Elionys, sighing a little. "To be honest, I am fairly certain that the Mistress didn't want or need more drunk Knights in her common room, but what's a man to do?" Clearly, what is a man to do?

The Minstrel continues with his silly song. "And Andred took up the Spear and stared the Serpent in the eye…" Whatever happens to that serpent is probably not very pretty.

He's about to say more as he watches the Mallister Lady leave and he coughs a bit. "So, hmm. Princess. I was wondering."

"As long as they're not trouble, I'm sure they're happy to have them," Elionsy says absently. "Especially with the guards in there looming all the time. It makes it more difficult to start trouble. Unless you're Aevander." She too glances the way of the Mallister lady, watching her for a few curious beats, but the cliffhanger question from Riderch draws her attention back to him. "What is it that you were wondering?" she asks.

Delwyn glances unwittingly at the brooch on his chest. "This belonged to the late Lord Tarth, my father," he tells the Princess. "There are documents. My mother's handmaiden kept them hidden. Then our house burned and I found them under a charred floorboard in a box. Some were salvageable." He lowers his gaze, and he just sounds so humble about it all. His brow knits. "I thought she was my mother." He's got a soft voice, and there's a quiet rasp to it when he speaks about the woman. He looks back to Visenya and says with painful sincerity, "How may I make amends, Princess? I never wanted to deceive you. I wanted to tell you. I almost did."

Dhraegon is flushed from much ale taken. He gives Visenya a hopeful smile, "It's okay. I don't remember anything before the accident." He helps himself to another tankard, having misplaced his. He watches Delwyn's confession with even more distress than he showed for Lady Jennifer's grief, but for once does not attack with hugs.

Doryssa comes out of the manse.

Visenya smiles gently at Delwyn, and touches his forearm lightly. "She was your mother if she raised you and loved you. It sounds as if she'd do anything to protect you. If that isn't a mother than I don't know what is." She nods her head at the mention of documents, "You need to see someone about the papers. …I don't know. A maester. Whoever handles this sort of thing. But, you will also need support from a Baratheon." She bites on her bottom lip, "And the only one I know? Lord Baratheon doesn't approve."

"Hmph. Knights are always trouble, your Grace. You should know that by now." Riderch's teeth flash wolflike towards Elionys as he draws back a step or so. "Trust me when I say I am not Aevander." The smile doesn't actually fade, more or less. His arms fall to his sides. "Maybe — I'll ask you later." For now though, he is content to grab another flagon of wine from somewhere, and brings the Princess a spare. While Delwyn begs Visenya's forgiveness, Riderch shoves a vessel in the lad's face. Maybe to dull the awkwardness of the exchange.

"But I just wanted to…" a young lady sputters to someone who showed her the way into the garden and the party. "What am I supposed to do now?" she says to the retreating back. "I am not even dressed for a party!" And she's not, though she's presentable enough for polite company among the nobility - but probably not for a Targaryen Nameday party. The girl with the terribly blue eyes sighs to herself and starts for the collection of people. "How do you get yourself in these messes, Doryssa?" she asks herself, perhaps unfortunately it's audible outside of her head.

Delwyn takes it and shoots Riderch a grateful look. More like a 'oh thank gods you blessed man' look. The man has no poker face to speak of. He starts to lift it to his lips for a good quaffing, but he stops himself and takes a swallow more suited to polite company and the preservation of fine silk doublets. He holds the tankard clasped loosely in his hands, polite like. Oh, does he have a drink? He'll just nurse it along instead of guzzling it down and reaching for another. Visenya's touch though, and her words, those soften him up completely, heart on his sleeve as it were. "Thank you," he says. "She was my mother, and she took good care of me. As for Lord Baratheon, I would like to establish myself as a worthy contender before I present myself."

Dhraegon looks at Princess Visenya with wide eyes, "Doesn't approve of what?" he gives Riderch one of his biggest goofiest smiles, clearly approving of the balm of alchohol. He himself takes another long draft of ale and tries to fling a massive arm around the Blackrood's shoulders, friendly like. Then he spots the newcomer. He bellows in his deep bass voice, "Welcome! Eat! Drink! I'm Priince Dhraegon Targaryen! This is Princess Visenya!"

"I will try to keep that in mind," Elionys replies to Riderch, sounding amused. "And yes, I know you're not like him," she assures. Curiosity is only further piqued when the question isn't asked, but as he moves off to offer Delwyn a drink, she doesn't follow.

"Of Amadys Baratheon." Visenya lowers her voice slightly as she responds to Dhraegon's question.. A sign that she is gossiping. "I hear there is bad blood between Lord Baratheon and Lord Amadys. Lord Amadys' mother was a second or third wife so of course there is always bad blood between half-brother's. Then I heard that Lord Amadys was romancing Lady Baratheon and that's why he was sent to the Citadel. Even worse now he's become an /actor/." She wets her lips on her arbor gold, "I mean, he's delightfully charming. Wrote a song about me, even. Called the Queen of Sundown or something like that. Charming fellow, but bad idea when it comes to pressing your claim. No…you'll need an army for that, I suppose." She looks over Delwyn before announcing, "You ought to marry someone with money to pay for an army."

Her attention is diverted when Dhraegon announces a newcomer. The Princess looks her over curiously before turning her gaze back to Delwyn, "She doesn't look like another rose. I wonder who she is?"

A look is shot to Delwyn on Riderch's part, and it's bemused. The Riverlord is in good spirits. "Next time you're in the land of your upbringing, whatever your birth, take a detour. Through Raventree Hall. Say Lord Riderch Blackwood sent you. You might be surprised." He smirks at the young man but doesn't elaborate any further, as he weighs the figures nearby. Including all the Targaryens.

"Pfft. Princess. I'll tell you about it later. It's fine." FINE. He says towards Elionys and leaves it at that. But maybe his gaze lingers upon her overlong.

Delwyn listens intently to the gossip. The lowering of the voice is a signal that transcends caste. He even leans in a little in the universal sign of oooh, dirt. "And actor," he echoes, as though he has any idea why that's even a bad thing. "I shall need higher standing, I think, to find a wife with money. Though I am gathering a modest sum, myself." Riderch grabs his attention, and his smile is warm and at ease. It's like there are two men bundled into one, and when he gives Riderch an upnod, he's pure Riverlander. "I shall, and we shall see what kind of surprise it is."

The large prince speaks to Doryssa, more or less. So, she closes the distance but stops a respectful distance to offer a curtsey. "It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace." Another for Visenya since she was identified as well. "I hope you shall forgive me for interrupting your festivity… my name is Doryssa Massey. I should not want to trouble you, but I have a letter here from my mother - she was a Velaryon - Lady Calleyn." The girl is nervous. "I know you probably do not know her, but she hoped that I…" then she doesn't know what else to say. She does have a letter, folded prettily and sealed but currently being used unconsciously as a fan.

"I'm sure that it will be," Elionys replies with a small smile, inclining her head toward the Riverlander Knight. There's a moment where she merely stands there, observing the guests that meadering about the party, and then abruptly, seems to make up her mind about… well, something. "Happy Nameday, Visenya. Uncle." With that she turns to make her way towards the entrance of the garden.

Dhraegon listens to Princess Visenya with a look so vacant, it is unclear if he follows the gossip at all. He drinks his stout and sways gently. He waves his tankard at the other Princess, "And this is Princess Elionys, who is shy…. Oh! There she goes. I'm not sure how we are all related. Family gets so confusing, doesn't it?"

"I believe Lady Calleyn was acquainted with my mother, Princess Aevara." Visenya says easily to Doryssa. She lets her amethyst eyes linger over the young Massey before holding out her hand for the letter. She lifts a hand to wave goodbye to Elionys while she waits to receive the letter.

"If you'll excuse me." Riderch intones as he watches Elionys duck off. It's pretty obvious where he's headed. "Try not to kill the minstrel. My mother'd be upset and she's horrible when she's upset." He confides to the crowd in general. With that being said, he heads on off whever the younger Targaryen Princess is going. Clearly acting as her slightly-doofy shadow.

Doryssa looks back as the Targaryens mention the retreating Elionys, then of course back to the others. She stares in something like awe at Visenya for just a moment and then a pleased smile blossoms on her lips. "Oh. Is she? Ah…" the princess has her hand out and it finally dawns on Doryssa what she is waiting for. "Oh. Yes." Doryssa says as she sheepishly offer Visenya the letter.

Delwyn takes the opportunity to drink more from his tankard. After all of that, when Visenya turns her attention to Doryssa, the weaver-turned-lord actually looks a little longing. Clearly he needs more abuse. So he offers Dhraegon a smile, and he says, "I must thank you again for the invitation, my Prince."

Dhraegon thumps the Lord from Tarth on the back likely rather harder than he meant to and tries to put his arm around his shoulder, "You ought to talk to the Lady Cora. I have heard she's in town." He is all goofy grin and alcohol breath.

Visenya takes the letter from Doryssa, and scans over it quickly. When finished she puts it down and looks over the younger noblewoman. "Make a lady out of you? Surely your mother recognizes that there is more to being a lady than sewing and acting a fool around men?" She lets out an airy little laugh, "Ah, I don't even know how to sew. But, if your mother insists…I have a lot of work to do what with my charity and such."

"I do know how to sew, Your Grace, but the truth be told I am better at sewing people than clothes or draperies." Doryssa says without leave. "I think she wants me here to find a husband that will put up with my wanting to learn things besides how to look pretty. I think she hopes that my uncle the Archmaester will finally bury me in scrolls that I will be sick of healing and herbs and other things I am not supposed to do." All that said, she remembers to curtsey again.

Delwyn pitches forward a bit as Dhraegon thumps him on the back, but he recovers before there is much spillage from his tankard. One must protect the booze. He watches the women talking with some fascination. "Lady Cora is…?" He glances up to Dhraegon. "…in town?" Because he knows who that is. Sure.

Visenya gives Doryssa an astonished look that is accompanied by a slow forming smile. "Sewing people? Good." She holds the letter out for Doryssa to take, "Because I have taken a special interest in the smallfolk women of Oldtown. Here they are in one of the most educated cities in the world, and most of them do not have access to a maester. How does that make you feel, Lady Doryssa?"

Dhraegon nods exaggeratedly, hanging on to the smaller man for balance, "She was seen at the play at the Whimsey. I will have Flox invite her for tea." He quaffs more ale. He listens to the women, mouth open as if to catch flies. After a long pause for the thought to cross his mind, he volunteers, "Mistress Peri does some stitching and midwifery, but I think she is indisposed…."

"That makes me very angry, Your Grace." Doryssa responds. "All those men training to be healing maesters and they do nothing to help the smallfolk? Do they not know how we live? The smallfolk…" for a moment she fumes silently, then offers the prince a pained smile. "Do forgive me, Your Grace. I know I speak too freely, people always say that." Back to Visenya. "If I could wear a chain of silver links I would see to it that noone was ever ill at ease. I cannot, though." she says with a bit of a sigh. "So, I do what I can when noone's looking for me."

Delwyn grimaces and nudges Dhraegon with a shoulder to keep him upright. "Prince Dhraegon, I believe they have jam cakes on the table. Would you like some?" He offers Doryssa a smile, though he looks less than dapper while trying to keep a gigantic Targaryen upright.

"Mistress Peri is barely a step above a prostitute." Visenya says to Dhraegon in a hushed tone with some scandal in her voice. "I'm sure she's very nice, but it wouldn't do to have a woman of her…reputation involved. You ought to take care around her, Prince."

"Good." Visenya says to Doryssa. And then she smiles crookedly, "Ladies may not be able to do as they wish, but Princesses have some leeway, don't they? I would make a place where the poor could be cared for. Orphanages for children. Better midwives for mothers; the same care given to smallfolk mothers that our peers receive when they go to childbed."

Dhraegon is all drunken ernestness, "No! No! No! You are right! Someone should look after the smallfolk!" Then he's giving Delwyn a mad grin. Eager he bellows, "Jam cakes! show me to the jam cakes! I love jam cakes!"

Delwyn hefts Dhraegon toward the jam cakes. "Let us get some food in you, my Prince," he says. As he passes Doryssa and Visenya, he monetarily forgets that he's being a stiff and noble lord and says easily, "You could talk a man into signing off on whatever would cause a scandal."

"Then it shall be my honor if you will allow me to assist you with your endeavor, Your Grace." Doryssa says with a smile. "At least until the maesters roust us out for interfering in their work." She glancess at Dhraegon as he is led off a bit to be fed. "Jam cakes. He'll be regretting that…" she mutters to herself. As Delwin speaks in passing she offers him a curtsey as well. "Scandal, my lord? A lady never causes a scandal, nor a princess." that said easily herself. "We would never cause trouble for menfolk, would we?"

"A few weeks ago I faced down a dragon." Visenya says to Doryssa. She takes off her diadem, and follows this with removing the fine myrish lace on her head to reveal her short pale hair. "I was so close to it's flames that it burnt off my hair, and my skin just recovered." She puts the diadem back on without the veil, "Now, do you think I'm afraid of a bunch of old men in dreadfully unfashionable gray robes?" She lets out a little amused sound, "More like they'd better all stay out of my way."

Dhraegon giggles happily at Delwyn's suggestion to the ladies. He is still mobile and characteristically willing to be steered, especially towards his favorite sweet, though noticeably unsteady. "Anything a Prince or Princess does is dignified!" More giggling, "You show them!" he blinks owlishly at Visenya, "Your poor hair! are you all right?" Unfortuneately in his concern he swerves away from Delwyn and starts Frankensteining towards Visenya with an offer of hugs.

Delwyn gently but firmly guides Dhraegon away from Visenya and says, "Perhaps she would like some cakes, my Prince." He flits another glance at the Princess and Lady, and it's written all over that guileless face that he has something amiable to say in response and that thin is not something a nobleman ought. He purses his lips to stifle a dimpled grin, and he takes Dhraegon's arm to haul him toward starchy goodness.

"A dragon?" Doryssa gasps. Her hands unconciously twitch as she stars to take a step forward to see what she can do for the princess, but 'recovered' registers and she returns to her place. "Yes, Your Grace. I can see that they would be mad to stand in your way. Still, they always have to have things their way." She nods in agreement with herself, then offers something else. "I fear I must take my leave, if I may." a curtsey for the princess. "Do send for me if it pleases you. There is an inn not so far that I have my things at."

"You'll come to the manse soon to live." Visenya declares without hesitation. "An inn is not a home, and you will need a home here. I suppose we can work on finding a husband for you as well. Goodnight, Lady Doryssa." She watches Dhraegon approach out of the corner of her eye, and looks relieved when Delwyn stops him from approaching.

Dhraegon squings his head back and forth between Delwyn and Visenya. After some thought he nods wisely and pronounces, "Cakes fix everything." He lets Delwyn led him to the food table. He calls to the dfeparting noble woman, "It was nice meeting you!"

Delwyn offers Visenya one of those dimpled smiles. It's one of simple pleasure. Once at the table, he picks up a plate and says, "Why don't you put the ones you like here." For the Prince of questionable mental faculties, he seems to have nigh infinite patience, and he engages him with the same sincerity has he does everyone else. "And pick out something nice for the Princess. Do you know what kind of cakes she likes?"

Visenya lets out a faint little yawn, and steps towards Delwyn and Dhraegon. "I think I've had enough name day celebration for tonight." She smiles faintly. "Goodnight to both of you."

Dhraegon makes a happy squeal at the prospect of unlimited jam cakes with no Flox to tell him to stop. Giggling with childlike glee, he starts picking out his favorites: The vanilla/raspberry jam and the spice ones with orange filling. Delwyn has reminded him of his manners though. He remembers the memorized pleasantries and asks Visenya earnestly, "What sort are your favorite, Visenya? I will bring you a plate." his face falls, "Are you leaving?" He perks up, "Would you like a birthday hug? I like hugs. They always cheer me up and you have had hard week."

Delwyn sets the plate down on the table and says quietly, "Put a variety on another plate she can take with her. It will be a surprise." He pats the Prince on the arm, and then approaches Visenya, and he kneels before her in deep prostration. He bows his head, then looks up at her. "Princess, I truly am sorry for misleading you. The words were so close to my lips the entire time, but fear held them back. I will make amends, if you let me." Then he smiles. He just has no consideration for others when he smiles like that. Like the sun just came out after a storm. "Happy name day. It was so good to see you again."

Visenya glances down at Delwyn. "I forgive you this time." She reaches down to put her finger under his chin, and tilt it upwards so she can look down into his eyes. "But do not lie to me again, Delwyn Tarth. I am easily annoyed, and I hold grudges." Still, his smile manages to elicit a little quirk of her lips. She zips her finger up the tip of his chin before holding it out, palm facing down, for him to kiss.

Dhraegon is given a glance, "I will take a plate up with me. Thank you, Prince Dhraegon. I like lemon cakes."

Dhraegon leans close and squints as he carefully makes up a plate for her with his clumsy sausage fingers and he giggles happily to himself. He is being useful and there are jam cakes. All is well with the world. He even puts two each of his favorites on there because she is likely sad about her hair. He weaves his way over to the Princess and stands swaying there with her plate while they work things out. He beams at them, pleased they seem to be friends now.

Delwyn's eyes go all puppyish when Visenya touches his chin and bring his head up to look her in the eye. Even with the warning she gives, he just looks… grateful. "I will keep you in my confidence, Princess Visenya, just as you may keep me in yours." He takes her hand, and he bows his head with reverence as he places his lips to her knuckles. It lingers, but not to the degree where it gets weird, and when he rises, he doesn't even use her hand for leverage. He then stands ready to run friendly interference should Uncle Dhrae get huggy.

Visenya's quirked mouth turns upwards into a full smile. She casts Delwyn one last look before going to Dhraegon. She glances to his hands, and looks over his tunic for spots before gracefully taking the plate from him, and leaning over to give him a side hug. "Women don't like to be squeezed too tightly. It's uncomfortable, and makes us feel unsafe. You must handle us gently. And if you do so we might even do this." She leans in to kiss Dhraegon's cheek lightly.

Dhraegon's hands are busy trying to fight the plate's tendency to tip, so she is safe from bear hugs. He makes a happy little sigh as she hugs him. Luckily, he has not started to eat the cakes, so his tunic is clean. "You are a very sweet and kind young lady and quite clever. someday we should play boats in the fountain."

Delwyn discreetly steadies the plate. His smallfolk learning hasn't left him, and he slips into the sidelines of the conversation with ease. He keeps the plate upright, steals fond glances at them both, and lets them say their good-byes unhindered.

Visenya takes the plate. "Goodnight Prince Dhraegon. /Lord/ Delwyn." That said, she walks into the manse without casting a look back.

Dhraegon giggles and waves at the departing Princess, his gooiest, friendliest smile on his face.

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