(122-01-19) How Many Nobles Does It Take to Build a Fire?
How Many Nobles Does It Take to Build a Fire?
Summary: Andolin, Loryn, and Daevon try to prepare for Malcolm's beach party — with needed help from Camillo and later Eonn — while Hellan and Maera judge them.
Date: 19/01/2015
Related: None

Crescent Beach Blackcrown Road

This is a little sandy-pebbly stretch of the Whispering Sound's shoreline, crescent-shaped and somewhat sheltered by the more precipitous coastline to either side of it. Terns and gannets and kittiwakes nest on the sheerest portions to the North and South, but it's much gentler here and the tiny inlet even offers good anchorage for small boats of shallow draft. The city of Oldtown, marked by the great bright spire of the Hightower, can be seen across the water to the Northwest.

There's a steep switchbacking track leading up to the Blackcrown Road.

It's early, but, well, these things take time to set up. Andy recruited Loryn to come help him drag things down to at least start building the fire, which, since Andy's a teenager with too much time on his hands, has mostly devolved into the wooden fire-pile being half-built and some booze already being tapped into. So useful! "So I have no idea how big to make this thing," he says, nudging a stick half-heartedly with his foot.

"Think Big", Loryn advises. Being the dainty Tyrell he is, he hasn't touched the pile of wood for the fire. Instead he's perching on a particularly large piece of wood with a cup of wine in hand, dishing out unwanted advice. "Also I think it shouldn't be just one fire but a couple of fires along the beach, so it's all well-lit in the evening. Unless you prefer some darkness on the beach…" Is that a brow-waggle?

Camillo is skulking his way down to the beach. Is it mere coincidence, or is he coming to scout in advance of the party, for some reason? It's always difficult to tell what the drab servant is up to. Perhaps he's even been lent out for the day by the Hightowers. Whatever the situation, he pauses at some distance when he sees others here. Perhaps he did not expect them.

Daevon's checking for ambushes, any ships on the horizon - that requires a far-eye, any one lurking in the vicinity. He has several sell-swords with him, both male and female, none in Targaryen colours mind you.

"Don't you?" Andy grins back. "And maybe I could make it bigger if you weren't making part of it your throne," he teases, good natured, and then movement catches the corner of his eye, and he glances over toward the approaching Camillo and Daevon; his expression sobers a little, but he sends them a lift of a hand and a wave. "Morning."

Another Stark arrives at the beach as it's set up for a party, although she is scarce on enthusiasm. The woman makes her way onto the beach with the faded olive green fabric of her dress lifted off the sand and pebbles, which she stares at under the shadow of a spitefully furrowed brow. Not for any prissy southron notion about getting sand on her attire; rather, the way in which she stomps across the beach, it's as if she desires to crush it and all of the revelry underfoot before it has a chance despite the fact that she's here of her own volition. Lady Hellan Stark stops directly in front of the fire Andolin is fixing, takes one look at Loryn, rolls her eyes at the Tyrell, narrows them at Andolin — perhaps for whatever jokes had been shared between the boys — and promptly tells the young Stark, "He is right about one thing. It needs to be much taller. The base is all wrong. Who taught you to build a fire?"

"Hey, it's probably the only throne I'll ever sit on.", Loryn grins back and reluctantly gets off the wood. He doesn't pay much attention to the Targaryen prince and his entourage as long as nobody gets washed into the sea and starts screaming for help. He begins to lift his wine cup in greeting to Camillo when he sees the man skulk onto the beach, but then Lady Hellan Stark appears in his line of vision - or rather looms largely - and he blinks, looking baffled. But since her ire is for now aimed at Andolin, he keeps quiet and takes a careful step back.

Camillo dips his head in return for the greeting, though he scarcely knows Andolin. "Good morning, my lord," he says. And, noting the wary expression, he asks, "Do I trespass?"

Daevon gets the sellswords stationed in groups of two, at various vantage points. They're undoubtedly getting paid extremely well, for whatever purpose Daevon's hired them for. Whatever he says to them is lost to the wind. It's only once he's satisfied with the lookouts set up, and whatever, if any, patrols are decided upon, that he joins the group with the bonfire. "Starting early, are we?"

"Not at all," Andolin tells Camillo with a bit of a grin, and then lo, a Hellan. He straightens, looking just a shade embarrassed. "It— building them on sand is— it sinks," he says, a little lamely. "We just got started on it." 'We'. And hi, a Daevon, too. "Well, putting it together, getting it ready."

Camillo glances Daevon's ways but says nothing to or about him. He gives Loryn a respectful nod, belatedly, then says to Andolin, "I suppose there is to be a gathering, my lord." It doesn't sound like a question, but maybe it is.

Hellan drags an uninterested look over Camillo before taking stock of the rest of the beach and Daevon's approach; she seems just about as uninterested in the Targaryen prince, though she does greet him with something vaguely resembling a stiff curtsey and spends a moment eyeing his groups of sellswords from afar. The Stark lady stands with her shoulders thrust back, striking a bold figure despite the potentially unwell paleness of her chiseled face. "If it sinks, you must boulster it with rocks. There are rocks in the Reach, aren't there?" she says to Andolin cuttingly. There's a pause in her expression as if she may rethink and apologize, but she just looks coolly out to the Whispering Sound. She must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Her bed must often be one-sided.

"Hello, Daevon.", Loryn greets the young man with a smile and a look of relief, "We're only just starting the preparations. We offered Ser Malcolm our help." And he might yet come to regret accepting it. "Grab a drink, why don't you? And you too.", he turns to Camillo with a grin, "Party isn't yet starting but hey, why not?" Then inspiration seems to strike him and he hurries to fill a cup of wine and offer it to Hellan. "Here, Mylady, a drink!", he says with all the chirpyness he can muster, "If you think Andy's fire is bad, you should never see mine!"

Daevon eyes Camillo, trying to work out if he's meant to be here or not. The whole suspicious guard thing doesn't really sit well with him though. So he ends up smiling, not threatening at all. "That's kind of you. I hired a few people to keep the peace." He admits. "Just in case. Hopefully it won't be needed. I shouldn't drink myself."

Andolin doesn't exactly stand up to cutting remarks from his elder relative, and a 'shade' embarrassed moves into more mutters as he shoves a stick back into place. "Yes, there are rocks," he sighs, and then limps back toward where Loryn is to get a drink for himself. "That was good of you," he adds to Daevon.

Camillo looks back at Daevon while he's giving Camillo the staredown, but the smile seems to relax him a bit. He looks Loryn's way. "Perhaps I could…lend a hand," he offers.

"I expect that's because you've never made one," Hellan replies flatly to Loryn — who has done the right thing in giving her a cup, however, for once it's gripped tightly in her hand, she abandons accosting Andolin over the state of the fire and remembers to almost smile and say, "And hello to you, Ser Loryn."

Loryn doesn't deny Hellan's guess about his fire-making and gives Camillo a hopeful look. "Do you know how to build a proper fire?", he asks the man, then hands Andolin a drink as well. Seems he's already in charge of the bar.

Daevon's the dragon, of course he knows how to build a proper fire. "The key to a good bonfire is a good foundation. You want it to burn long and slow, not burn up in a flash. Also team work gets things done much better than one person working alone." Everyone with the words of advice, no one with the actual doing. "Did you pick the firepit spot? We've already got the stones and everything laid out there and its high enough up the ocean never gets there."

"Yes, my lord," Camillo replies, but he is careful not to speak over Daevon's advice about the process. "Shall I gather tinder and kindling? Or have you that already?" He's trying to phrase the question in the least condescending way possible.

Andolin gladly takes a drink, taking a breather. "Well, we were going to make it here, but if you have a better spot," Andy sighs, and then grins a little at both Daevon and Camillo. "Well, if you two are better at it, by all means. I just told Malcolm we'd get it started."

Hellan mumbles something under her breath (almost undoubtedly a rekindled thought about fire-building) and gestures appraisingly at Daevon — he understands - but further commentary is, perhaps fortunately, drowned as she takes a sip of wine.

Loryn just grins at Daevon and Camillo. "Well, if you can make yourself useful, by all means do so!", the Tyrell encourages happily, "I'm sure Andy and I can find ourselves another task to do. Such as keeping the lady entertained, perhaps?"

"Oh, there's sand on it," Daevon says. "It's just over here. It's generally more sheltered." We shows Andolin the spot, where their last bonfire was. "We just need to clear it up, get started again." He suddenly shakes his head at Loryn. "You mean you're just going to stand there and not help at all?"

"Works for me," Andy agrees to Daevon, apparently not terribly invested in his spot. He grins at Loryn, though, crooked, taking a swallow of his wine. "Come on, help me with this thing. It'll go faster."

The faint lift of Hellan's bold brows questions the Tyrell's idea of how to entertain a lady — or at least, her — but it's Daevon who ends up amusing her. She smiles, lifting her cup. "It would do you good, Ser Loryn," she suggests with that bead of amusement strung slyly through her words, sending a briefly approving look at Andolin, "A knight should know how to build a proper fire and get his hands dirty."

Camillo takes the fact that neither Loryn nor Andolin mention tinder and kindling to mean that they haven't thought to bring it. He goes off down the beach in search of dried seaweeds and smaller pieces of driftwood.

"What do you mean, not helping? I -am- helping. Doing… things.", Loryn replies indignantly to Daevon but he doesn't really have a leg to stand on, not even a wooden one. Especially when Hellan chimes in on the issue as well. "Fine! I learned how to build a fire when I squired for my cousin. Really!", he claims boldly and turns to the stack created by Andolin earlier, hands firmly planted on hips. "So, what do we do now?"

Daevon works on helping carry the wood over from the previous spot and arrange it in the new one. "Were you hoping to find all the wood on the beach, or is there a wagon of firewood coming? Three days is quite a while to keep a blaze going with just what we can scavenge."

There are sellswords stationed at the various strategic points leading up to the beach, all the better to warn if any raiding parties approach. There's also a boat out at sea. Upon the beach itself everyone's trying to build a bonfire. The party's nowhere near started yet with just this small group here.

As the men attack the fire-building, Hellan strolls toward a piece of driftwood much larger than kindling nearby and lowers herself down on it; it's a slow, measured act, balancing herself and her wine carefully until she sits upon the natural sea-worn bench. She does not mind the unladylike silhouette her raised knees and heavily planted feet make. It's a good a spot as any to oversee this — in her mind — disaster. "Perhaps do not get ahead of yourself, Ser Daevon," Hellan calls out, "We'll be off to a good start if this lot gets one lit in the first place."

"Grab some of that," Andy offers Loryn, nodding toward the firewood, and starts hauling it over. Daevon's question has him looking uncertain again. "I— maybe arranging for that wouldn't be a bad idea," he says, probably hinting that he hadn't thought that far ahead.

Camillo comes back with his arms full of smaller materials that will help things catch. "Has anyone a shovel?" he asks. "It may be easier to build if we dig a flat bed for it, in the more packed sand beneath?"

Loryn begins to move, but that doesn't last long and he returns to his former hands-on-hips stance. "Then I suppose it's not necessary to bother with the firewood if we get a haul of wood anyway?", he wonders loudly.

"Ser Loryn, do you really want to be standing there, doing nothing?" Daevon asks. He shakes his head at Camillo. "Not with me. I do have some things coming but I didn't expect to see many people here yet."

Maera arrives with one lone swornaxe, the huge barrel-chested grump with a sizable axe on his back. She wanders over to where Hellan is, and drops down into the sand to pull her skirt up to her knees and unlace her boots. "Are they building a pyramid out of food?" Her murky colored eyes roll up questioningly to her Aunt.

"It will be if we want a fire tonight," Andy says to Loryn with a little grin. "And I don't have one," he says to Camillo. "I'm thinking I might could have planned a little better for this."

Camillo nods at Daevon's reply. "Then we'll build on the surface," he concludes easily enough, as if that posed no particular difficulty. "Will one of my lords kindly show me where the first fire is to be built?"

Hellan, on the verge of interrupting the men with advice, winds up pressing a few fingers between her brow instead, pushing into the line there. She's pleased to see her niece sitting down beside her, promptly dropping her hand. "Maera! Gods be good. It is meant to be a bonfire. If you squint." She downs a full mouth of wine.

Loryn bristles a bit at Daevon's question. "I am helping!", he insists, "It's not my fault that the first fire didn't work. And no, I don't have a shovel, but maybe we could use the lady's… axe-man?", he suggests, nodding towards the arriving Maera and her companion. He does at least start to move and pick up a single branch of driftwood from the beach, holding it out rather daintily.

Daevon laughs. "I'm sure Malcolm already has everything planned out any way. It'll be fine once more people get here, everything will fall into place." He shows Camillo their firepit, perfect for the job, well they are building a bonfire in it. "Are there games planned? Entertainment? It's going to be great."

Camillo kneels down where he's told and starts by carefully constructing a small nest of dry seaweed. He constructs a pyramid out of smaller sticks around that, then starts on the outer structure of the larger structure, which he builds in a square tower shape around the pyramid. Being a servant, he has likely made multiple fires per day almost every day of his life, so he seems to have an idea of what he is doing. The way the logs are stacked, there is a space between each level. You can still see the little internal pyramid, but it's in little danger of being blown over within the larger structure. Occasional cross pieces reinforce and give the fire a potential foothold.

"My man is a Warrior of the North, not a servant. It is not his troubles that you cannot build your own fire, Ser Loryn." Maera responds smoothly, a bit of a sardonic grin coloring her lips. Her axeman smirks under his beard. "But, perhaps he will allow you to borrow his axe?"

The axeman, known as The Wulrus, chuckles under the length of his beard before taking the great axe from his back, and offering it to Loryn.

"Don't look so disappointed, Aunt Hellan." Maera holds her hand out for the wine skin, "This is the entertainment."

Loryn declines the offer of the Wulrus's axe, indicating that his hands are rather full since he is still holding the branch of firewood. "It seems that man has things under control now.", he tells the ladies happily, nodding towards Camillo, the only one among them who seems to know what he's doing.

Andolin puts his stick into place and turns about to get another; this path takes him by the Helpful Tyrell; he grins at the dainty way he carries the stick, and he slings an arm around his shoulders in an impish wrassle, and turns loose to try to duck aside before he gets hit by retaliation. Oh teenage boys. "I think Malcolm has some things planned," he laughs, good spirits returning. Someone's in a good mood. "If not, we'll make it up as we go, it will be fun."

Daevon works quietly, on his own, helping the fire get built.

Hellan is, indeed, watching Loryn holding the driftwood in an effort to be entertained by the fire-building efforts rather than annoyed until Andolin wrassles the Tyrell. Teenagers. Her mouth flickers with a hint of a grin that would match Maera's if it were brought to fruition. "It is that," she concurs, "although this is the one time I am slightly grateful to be in the South. If it were truly cold, we'd all freeze. But that fellow," she points to Camillo, "does seem to have it in hand."

Camillo works quietly for the time being, apparently concentrated on his work. He doesn't interrupt his betters, but presumably he hears their conversation.

The Wulrus takes back his axe, and tromps over to stand near where Maera and Hellan sit. "You and I freeze? It gets so damn hot here sometimes I don't wonder if we carry the blood of the Others in us, and I am only moments from melting." She watches as the men assemble the wood, and frowns. "You're not lighting that until after dark, are you?"

"Hey!", Loryn protests and swings the branch at Andy in retaliation to being wrassled. The branch won't have much impact, but it's covered in sand which will find its way on Andy's clothes now. "As long as the games don't contain a fire-building competition, we should be fine.", he grins, "Maybe there'll be wrestling in the sand. Or swimming.", he shrugs with a view towards the sea lying calmly under the burning sun. Hearing the question he looks at the melting northrons with a sigh. "We need to start the fire soon, so it will be burning brightly by the time it gets dark. These things take time."

Daevon's not lighting anything, he's just woodgathering, and clearing spaces, looking busy mostly. "Have you ever leapt over a bonfire?" he asks everyone, in general. He runs for the pile of unlit wood, and suddenly leaps up into the air, springing over it to land on the other side. "Probably going to need a smaller one for jumping. Can't have too many fires."

"Ow!" Andolin protests with a laugh as he's thwacked by the branch, indeed getting all sorts of sandy - not that he's not already. He stumbles over a step, grinning a silly sort of grin, and then laughs at Daevon's antics. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't try it."

"We have ice in our veins," Hellan agrees with a sort of pride, "but this weather confuses my blood. Sometimes it freezes in the heat and melts in the cold." She's oft seen wearing furs when it's warm, although today they're absent. "Hopefully fortune will see you well back North when you're of an age, Maera." She shakes her head as she hears Loryn. "Are you schooling us, now, Ser Loryn?" she asks in jest — but not without its sting.

Camillo doesn't look up. He assumes that general question isn't meant for him. But his structure is almost complete.

Daevon smiles at Andolin. "Only if Loryn jumps twice."

"It may see me sooner than was expected." Maera comments off-handedly to Hellan. She smiles thinly at this, "With much joy, I think. I had to knock Ulyka about the ears the other day. The longer we are here the more disobedient she becomes." She lifts her wrist up to her forehead to wipe sweat from it. Unlike Hellan, Maera is almost consistently hot, and only appears comfortable on the coldest days in Oldtown.

"Well, I know stuff.", Loryn replies rather randomly to Hellan's question, his very short attention now on Daevon and his hop over the wood. "Could get your feet really burnt that way.", he points out and shakes his head, "I don't think it's for me… though I've seen something similar up in the Vale… they set a horizontal bar on fire and people have go walk underneath, bending backwards without falling down or using their hands for help. Easy as first, but not when the bar gets lowered and lowered…" He demonstrates the movement, effectively limboing under a non-existant burning bar.

"Fantastic idea," Daevon says. "Let's get that set up. It'll be fun and probably a little less dangerous. No reason we can't jump over as well as under. If you move fast enough then you won't burn your feet. It's the same principle as waving your hand through a flame." So speaks the Dragon.

Andolin grins at Daevon, but then he's distracted by Loryn's antics, and he just looks skeptically amused. "And then you set yourself on fire instead of just your feet," he laughs, but it's more a tease than anything.

"She's still young. She needs to be fortified by the North," Hellan replies; midway, her head begins to tilt and her brows pinch together upon witnessing Loryn's impression of the fire game. "… there are strange influences in the South." She smiles rather wide, even flashing white teeth, and hefts her wine up. "They may catch themselves on fire, now. To see that, I may have to stay longer than I planned."

"Sometimes, it is only remembering how I held her when she was a babe that keeps me from strangling the life out of her." Maera jokes, but with her flat tone it sounds more honest than it is meant. "What of your children? Is the boy still being…peculiar?" Her attention turns to the building pyramid of wood, "I do love a good disaster."

Loryn eyes the dragon for a moment. "And what if you stumble while you try to jump over the fire and fall into the pyre?", he wonders, "I'd rather not have it become my funeral pyre. So I agree, the game from the Vale is much safer. You can't set yourself on fire.", he turns to Andolin to convince him, "If you touch the bar, it will fall down. Which means you're out of the game, but you're not burning. You might, if you had magnificently bushy chest hair but you don't, so you're safe. Him, now that would be different.", he smirks, looking over to Wulrus.

"Then your friends haul you out and throw you in the sea," Daevon says with a shrug.

Andolin snorts at them both, but just looks amused. "I'll let you go first," he says, eyeing Loryn as he drags up another branch, giving a look back over toward Wulrus at the gesture and looks amused. "That will give me enough time to drink enough anyway."

Camillo finishes building his stack of wood and, rather than interfere with Daevon's, reports back to the group. "Shall I build another?"

Daevon smiles at Camillo, shaking his head. "No, that one looks good. I'm sure others will become later as the need calls for them."

"He's smartening up," Hellan tells Maera, "The maester said he took a strike to the head. Some time back in Winterfell will put him to rights." She looks over her shoulder to the Wulrus, somewhere between amused and skeptical.

The Wulrus lets out a barking sort of chuckle, and strokes his luxurious beard before declaring, "It is not my fault I am so damned manly, My Lord."

Maera lets out an amused little snort at the exchange, and looks back to Hellan, "That's good." A pause, "I do not remember being so defiant when I was young."

"Could you build a structure for the dance game?", Loryn asks Camillo eagerly, "Basically it's just two upright poles that need to be able to losely carry a horizontal bar that will fall off if touched. The horizontal bar needs to be set on fire, but only small flames, not big ones, so the dancers won't get hurt. Get the idea?", he wonders hopefully.

"Yes, I think I understand, my lord," Camillo tells Loryn. "But if you haven't any such poles with you, I shall have to go into town to see if I can buy any. I doubt I'd find that sort of driftwood here."

"Shouldn't you build it yourself?" Daevon asks Loryn. "You've a better idea of what it's meant to look like after all."

"Nor was I; not in most matters." Hellan's eyes seem to darken before their ice grey clears. "What did we have to be defiant about? My generation, and yours. Perhaps we knew our purpose better." As she idly watches the goings-on, she says with no real stake in what she's saying, looking at Camillo, "Who's servant is that? He simply wandered along…" Yet she lifts a shoulder; no matter, "Someone who knows his purpose."

Andolin plunks his log on the fire, and then dusts his hands. There! See, he's useful. "Don't you really just need two straight sticks? I don't think that'd be too hard to find."

"Wouldn't they need a metal pipe? Perhaps lead like the water pipes that lead to the fountains in town?" Maera asks as Loryn commands Camilo to build a apparatus. She blinks once. Twice. "I hope you are aware that wood burns, lord Loryn." She turns her head to give Hellan a nod in agreement. "Perhaps it is because she is the baby, and he feels that he has no real responsibility?"

"Well, it seems this man here knows how to build wooden structures.", Loryn replies to Daevon, without any enlightenment as to who Camillo might actually belong to. Not him for sure. "It's just two poles and a horizontal bar in the end but we need a fitting contraption on which the horizontal bar rests… perhaps you can carve this, are you good with a knife?", he asks the mysterious servant, then nods to Andolin: "We should be able to find something, I'll help you search." Maera's remark gives him pause for a moment. Two moments. Then he shrugs. "We don't have metal, so wood will have to do…."

"You can't just order people to do things for you, for free, because you're too lazy to do it yourself," Daevon says to Loryn. "Do you even know his name, or why he's here? Do you just order everybody around to do your bidding?" He turns to Camillo realising he doesn't know the man's name either. "I'm Daevon." That's Ser Daevon Targaryen but who's counting. "And I'm here to celebrate Malcolm's birthday." There, an introduction.

Camillo tilts his head at Loryn. "I had thought two forked sticks might do as well, my lord," he says. "It would likely take more time to carve a solid piece than to go to town and find it." When Daevoon intervenes on his behalf, he makes a quick bow. "Camillo, my lord. I serve the Hightowers, now."

"Young Ulyka does have bold footsteps to follow, perhaps she does not know the rightful path of her own behind them," Hellan suggests. "I sometimes wonder if Wylliam would have felt a greater responsibility if he had grown up on Bear Island," she admits more quietly, punctuated by a drink. "Winterfell is powerful, a strong legacy to protect, but there is no shortage of young Stark lords running around. They can easily become comfortable." Naturally, her gaze settles on Andolin, a young Stark lord.

Andolin eyes both Daevon and Loryn at that, oblivious to being eyed by his relatives. "Come on, let's go find a couple of sticks. I'm sure we can find something that'll do," he says, hopefully bringing about an end to the possible conflict.

"Strange." Maera observes as she watches the men work at building an apparatus for their frivolous pursuits. "I could swear Lord Loryn owned a theater full of props less than a mile away. Surely there must be something metal and pole-like contained there to hold up his fire stick." She nods to what Hellan says, "Ulyka needs to go home. That is all there is to it. If you want to send Wylliam to Bear Island you know he will be welcomed. The men will take him under wing. Winterfell is far too cramped for young men, and Lord Stark is very competent. To be so young and so accomplished a warrior, well, I can't imagine it sits well with the other's pride."

Loryn stares at Daevon. Ordering people to do things for him because he's too lazy to do it himself - isn't that life as a nobleman in a nutshell? "Well, firstly, I do know the man, secondly, he's making himself useful and knows what he's doing, so thirdly, why not ask him to help with this as well?", he asks, getting a little hot under the non-existing collar. "You see he has good ideas, forked ends, that's a really good idea! Come, let's go." He practically pushes Andolin in agreement to walk away from potential confrontation. As usual.

Daevon sighs. He glances to Loryn, then to Camillo. But no it's not a fight he wants either. He's obviously frowning, clearly upset and just retorts with. "As you say." When they walk away.

Camillo stays out of the matter between Loryn and Daevon, neither protesting that he's ill-used nor assuring that he isn't. But since Daevon doesn't object, he nods to Loryn. "Yes, my lord." Stick-hunting it is.

Well if Camillo wants to fetch sticks Daevon's going to go and sulk. He doesn't interfere, he just begins to stalk away on his own.

Andolin limps off with Loryn to go stick-hunting then, not addressing the tension at hand. He's staying out of this one, aside from to just give a low, "You two," to Loryn with a bit of a sigh.

After distantly shaking her head at the young men here, Hellan goes on, "Indeed. I believe I will send him to Bear Island." Evidently, any opinion of her husband on the fate of her son hasn't factored into this whatsoever. "It's for the best. Better than it was for…" Shoulders stiffen, a solid never mind. She realizes her cup is dry. "I need more wine." She looks this way and that; whomever is going to fetch it for her if they're off fetching sticks or sulking. She mumbles in dismay, "… speaking of insolent children…"

"Why don't you help us?", Loryn suggests to Daevon, "You know your way around fire - perhaps you can think of a way to stop the horizontal bar from completely burning through? Otherwise I might have to return to town to see what I can find at Garden Isle or the Whismy." It's a peace offering of sorts. Nothing can be done about Hellan's empty cup though. Boys are indeed too busy sulking and skulking.

Maera stands, and reaches down to take Hellan's cup. She wanders over to the stash of wine, and refills it for her before sitting back down in the sand. And then she settles in for more entertainment. "Perhaps Ser Daevon will punch Ser Loryn." This is said in a hopeful tone.

Daevon wants to brood, off on his own. He does look startled as Loryn addresses him. "Choose the right timber. Coat it in oil, or grease. That will burn hot and fast, the wood itself won't." He frowns. "Only the grease may drip. I've got some fire-breathers hired though, we could ask them. Or my sister Visenya's know, she knows everything about fire. It was never really my area of expertise."

Hellan smiles gratefully as her niece brings her the refill, and the expression turns wryly amused. "Would be more exciting than a name-day tourney," she says, stretching long legs out beneath the confines of her skirt, heels digging in the sand. "Ser Malcolm is missing all the fun already."

Andolin gives a little smile as Loryn addresses Daevon, and then continues his search for an appropriate stick.

"Your sister's scary.", Loryn murmurs under his breath though Daevon might catch it anyway. The Tyrell then speaks up with a smile. "But thanks for the suggestions, I'll see what we can do." Situation defused, no punches thrown. Loryn starts wandering away as well, in search of the perfect stick.

Eonn arrives at the top of the slope, leading his big white mare. Destrier? She's pulling a cart, loaded with firewood.

Daevon watches Loryn walk off. He's about to search down Camillo when he hears the hooves. A smile brightens, the sulking/brooding/moodiness stops and he waves a greeting at Eonn.

Maera does not look happy. Indeed, the sight of Eonn solicits a dark scowl and a furrowing of the brow. She stands up from the sand, and brushes it off of her backside. "That." She announces to Hellan and The Wulrus, "Is my cue to depart as well."

Camillo dutifully looks for naturally-occurring forked branches, which is a tall order close to water, so he ends up climbing away from the shore a bit.

"There's one problem solved," Hellan notes, leaning back when she hears the cart; its the thump and clatter of the cart and its load she hears first, glimpsing the destrier and its rider a moment later. Her expression is the opposite of Maera's — pleased to see Eonn — but it turns respectfully dour when she realizes. "Perhaps he's simply dropping off the wood," she suggests to her rising niece, but says all the same, "I will see you again soon, Maera."

Eonn smiles down the slope and starts to stride towards the group, leaving his big white horse at the top. She can walk down, but with the cart tumbling after her, it might not be such a good idea.

"Camillo," Daevon says. "Have you met Eonn?" As if all smallfolk should know eachother? He introduces them any way. "You know you don't have to keep looking for those branches. And I'm sorry if I put you in an awkward position. Um, what is it that brought you here?" He calls to Eonn. "Perfect timing. We're looking for," he glances to Camillo for help, "something about some long sticks for setting fire to and then jumping over, or under?" Another look to Camillo to see if he's correct.

"Come by the manse for dinner." Maera suggests to Hellan, "I'll have cook prepare something other than stew, even. We'll discuss young Wylliam. And your girl." She smiles then, "But I do like your girl." That said, she and the Wulrus turn to depart the beach.

"I believe we did meet once," Camillo acknowledges. So maybe all smallfolk do know one another. He nods to Eonn. "I have no objection to lending a hand with Ser Malcolm's celebration, my lord," he tells Daevon. "But if you think I would be better used at another task, you have only to say so." He looks to Eonn again and nods. "Two stout sticks with forked ends," he says. "The solid end to be driven into the ground, the forked ends to hold a bar aloft. And one straight to be the bar." He illustrates with gestures.
<OOC> Camillo says, "There are at least two fires built, just not lit yet. :)"
<OOC> Hellan won't believe they'll work until proven otherwise.

"My prince," says Eonn, smiling. Then, more somberly, "Lady Maera. Lady Hellan."

"I think you should take a break, help yourself to some wine or beer, if you want it," Daevon says. "But if you want to be busy. Well. I think you should do whatever you want." There. Not helpful at all. "Do you think we'll want some logs to sit on?"

Hellan turns her attention to Eonn, though she does not bother to get up from her driftwood. She looks a bit stranded on it, truly, now that she's absent company. "Eonn, you don't know how timely you are," she says by way of greeting, though a glance aside at Maera's departing causes a contrary, considering frown.

Camillo is only now made aware of Daevon's rank, though perhaps he should have guessed earlier. "Your Grace," he replies. "I think it would be a pity for me to drink before the guests. But perhaps your grace is right. Some logs set out for seating."

Daevon frowns a little a the graces. "If you're going to title me all the time, then Ser does. I'm a Knight first and foremost. I'd say you don't need to, but, well what makes you comfortable."

"There are a few large ones in the cart," says Eonn, of logs. "We could roll them down the hill. I don't want Bottle pushed about by that load, though." He shrugs, then looks back to Hellan. "She hates me," he says, by way of explaination.

"She's made that rather clear," Hellan replies, no clarity needed. As much as she values Lady Mormont's judgment, however, this one does not seem to have transferred to Hellan. She smiles at Eonn, drinks down her wine, and makes a move to push up off the makeshift driftwood bench; it does not quite happen, as she swallows a wince and subtly treads sand. She looks to Eonn rather than ask for a hand.

Camillo seems like a pretty stubborn follower of etiquette when he can be. "Yes, Ser Daevon," he agrees. He looks up at the cart, nodding at Eonn's judgment.

"Log rolling sounds fun," Daevon decides. "We could roll the whole cart down without her though? And then pull it back up to the top of the hill and do it again?"

Eonn doesn't require asking. He bends to give Hellan his arm, treating it as an ordinary sort of thing, then looks towards Camillo's sticks. "I think it unfair of her," he says to Hellan. "Do you want to try this game?"

And, like a normal thing, Hellan firmly takes the offered arm and manages to raise herself to standing. The effort does not appear so difficult when she has Eonn to fortify her way up. She shakes her head. "As tempting as it is to stay and manage all of these men into getting a single thing done, I believe I shall make a return in the eve, when the fires are blazing. If I'm fortunate, I'll see someone catch fire during one of the games."

Camillo tilts his head slightly. "If the cart hits a bump, we could lose the whole cargo and the cart, too. Fixing a wheel is more trouble than one might think…"

Eonn smiles at Hellan, amused. "Ah, well, then, perhaps you will not object if I walk with you back up to the top of the trail, that I may unload my cart once you are on your way." He says to Camillo, "It's a heavy cart. She could pull it up the slope, but it will roll down it faster than she'll climb down, so.." He grimaces. "So we'll tumble the wood down, and stack it up again at the bottom, if nobody minds the mess." A glance at the sellswords.

"That is fair," Hellan states diplomatically. If the hand remaining on Eonn's elbow is any indication, she'll appreciate the sturdy aide up the slope.

Daevon nods at Camillo, listening to his common sense. There goes ideas of wild wagon rides down the hill. He's gone quiet though, thoughtful.

Camillo nods in agreement with Eonn's strategy.

Eonn casts a look to Daevon, a warm expression, and then starts slowly up the trail with Hellan, "If you return for the fires," he says, "I shall catch a crab for you. Probably. Mostly I don't do too badly, catching them."

Daevon smiles back at Eonn, and there's then a sudden laugh as he mentions crabs. "No one catches crabs like you."

A hint of a low chuckle sounds from the lady's throat as she makes her way up the trail slowly. "… a crab it is, then," she says. "Do I hear a story there…"

"If there's one," says Eonn, "I am not sure what it is. Bring butter."

Daevon's lips are sealed on the story, he's still chuckling though at some memory.

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