(122-06-06) A Prince Arrives
A Prince Arrives
Summary: The discerning Prince Jurian Targaryen makes his way to Oldtown and meets with the nobles who happen to be there.
Date: 06/06/2015
Related: None

Oldtown Square - Oldtown

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

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

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

So it appears that another Targaryen is making his way into Oldtown. Jurian is mounted on horseback and accompanied by a modest, yet well-appointed retinue, a red-and-black standard announcing his house borne by one of his men. When he sees the market spread in the square, he calls a halt and peers down at the many mercantile delights to be had here, a faint smile curling the corners of his lips. The man has excellent posture in the saddle, and the mounted position disguises the mild turn of his right foot.

There might have been whispers about another Targaryen arriving in town, which might be the reason for the streets and market being surprisingly busy. Everyone found a reason to be somewhere out of doors. So does Loryn Tyrell, though the young impresario of the Whimsy can often be found in town to rehearse, advertise his shows or generally be friendly with people. He's now part of a small bunch of young men pushing forward into the square to get a better look at the Targaryen. "Damn, should have worn my nice jacket, the one in Tyrell colours.", he mutters under his breath.

Protected by men bearing the Hightower colours and with an especially close attention from the City Watch, Lady Marsei drifts about the market square, arm in arm with Siva, her handmaid. Both are dressed elegantly in white and silver, the lady of course more richly attired; pearls adorn the straight-across neckline of her gown and catch the eye of would-be cutpurses. Perhaps a naive colour to choose for Oldtown Square, busy and potentially dirty and as vivid as the brightest colour when it comes to drawing attention. She seems a world away from the smallfolk though she moves amongst them, though none so much as the Targaryen and his retinue. Siva has a basket on her arm, but they do not seem to be shopping; Marsei has every-so-often been pausing to take things out of the basket rather than place new items inside, handing them to smallfolk, women and children, along with a few kind words. She's done so as low-key as possible — under the circumstances — trying not to make a scene of her good will. A guard chivalrously aids her to standing after one such act of quiet charity toward a young girl in order to get a look at the new arrival.

Jurian takes his time drinking everything in: the stalls, the smallfolk, the odd beggar, the merchants, and the nobles, too. His eyes light on Loryn, seeing the Tyrell's gaze on him and returning it, then his gaze is drawn by the white and silver on Marsei and her handmaiden. He tilts his head slightly when he sees her un-buying. "What a kaleidoscope of humanity is to be found in this place," he announces to no one in particular. He deliberately projects his voice, so perhaps he means this as a remark to be received by everyone in general, a means of self-introduction.

Loryn catches the Targaryen's look and offers him a respectful look, just in case the man knows who he is or what family he belongs to, but when he spots Marsei handing out goodies, he can't resist. He pushes through the throng until he's in front of her, holding both cupped hands out to her. "Handout for a poor young man who's pure of heart and thought?"

A similarly respectful look is sent upward from Marsei to the arriving prince, her smile gentle and welcoming, though rather the same smile was given to the smallfolk just a moment ago. When Loryn approaches, there's a second in which the lady seems reluctant to break her respectful gaze toward the Targaryen. "Pure perhaps," she replies brightly, a subtle line beneath the word perhaps, "but poor you are not." Rather than fill the whimsical knight's hands with goods, she folds her free hand over one of his, as if accepting chivalry he hasn't quite offered. "Do you think we should greet our prince?"

Jurian eyes both the nobles and smiles. He lets them have these words together before observing— a little less loudly, but clearly enough that they can hear him without him moving closer, "And here are people of quality. Lady, is it bravery or great purity that leads you to wear such fine white clothing on your errands?"

Loryn grins at Marsei, not minding that she didn't give him anything but a warm hand and a smile. "I suppose we should.", he replies and before he can even rally to the challenge, the Targaryen has spied them. Since he's addressing Marsei though, he just inclines his head respectfully and mutters "Your Highness." under his breath.

"My prince," Marsei starts off politely before she answers, her head bowing in graceful deference, and the darker head of her handmaiden following suit. She steps forward, urging Siva, Loryn, and her small collection of guards closer, for her voice is small and doesn't carry as well. "It would be presumptuous of me to describe myself in either way," she tells the prince in with her sweet modesty, "I am afraid the answer is fashion." Smiling rosily, she adds a proper introduction, "Lady Marsei Hightower. I bid you welcome to our city."

Jurian chuckles softly. He's mounted on horseback with a modest retinue that nevertheless displays the red-and-black standard of his family. He's looking down at the approaching Loryn and Marsei, so far not deigning to dismount in order to make their conversation easier but instead electing to maintain the difference in height. "I see," he says to Marsei. "Clothed in finery /and/ modesty. But that name, I've heard it." He narrows his eyes thoughtfully and looks off to the sky. "An engagement…one of my kinsmen, isn't it?" He looks back to her with a smile, but then his gaze slides over to Loryn. "What fine needlework," he says, evidently interested in Loryn's clothing as well. "Did you have it made here?" This, at last, seems to merit his dismounting. Although Loryn and Marsei are on the left side of his horse, he dismounts to the right (which takes him a little longer than it would the average rider) and walks around in front of the animal, casually handing off the reins to one of his retainers. Now it is possible to note the way his right foot turns in a bit, and the slight limp that it causes, though he corrects for it as much as possible with the way he carries himself.

Loryn seems a little baffled that his clothes be noticed. He hasn't even dressed up in particular! He looks down the fine overcoat, mostly a subdued purple with golden threads forming the shapes of roses and other flowers, then at the Targaryen, once he's come around his horse. "It has been made locally, your Highness, yes. I would be happy to introduce you to the seamstress. I'm Ser Loryn Tyrell." Well, since Marsei introduced herself he has to bring up his fancy name and title as well, right? And he's still putting some emphasis on the Ser.

A large Northman not unfamiliar to Oldtown is walking toward the square from Harbour Street. A short, squat, doughy boy of about thirteen years trails along in his wake. "Fregrick." Ser Leonte hails without looking back over his shoulder to check that the squire was with him. The Knight has a gait befitting his station, he walks with a the wide stance of one accustomed to battle- to life at sea. His wide footed walk carries confidence in its seeming.

"When was the last time we were in Oldtown. Tell me quick now or you'll be not eating meat again. If I can't tighten your belt with work I'll sharpen your mind. Be damned sure…" As Ser Leonte walked along speaking to his squire he does not, again, look back at him. This gave Fregrick the unfortunate oppurtunity to stop and gape slackjawed at a street merchant selling dried saltbeef in strips. Ser Leonte walks along talking to himself just long enough for him to loose Fregrick before he turned around. "Fregrick," As his quesiton hung in the air he glanced back over his shoulder. "You worthless boy, come here now."

Marsei looks at Jurian a bit more closely, now she can see him at more or less eye level. She parts her hand from Loryn and splays it gently at her collarbones, another modest gesture as if honoured to be remembered in any form. "Yes, a recent betrothal," she replies, an upbeat confirmation, yet… factual, in a way, showing neither pride nor shame. "To Prince Dhraegon. Of course, it is my sister who has the great honour of being married to our King Viserys," she adds in the careful tone of further honour rather than reminder. The elegant Hightower lady is briefly distracted by the rougher talk nearby, from the man of the North and his squire, glimpsing the source through her small collection of attentive guards, but is quick to shine her smile back upon the Targaryen.

Lillian enters the square as soon as Leonte makes his way in, the Lady watches him a moment before she moves to Marsei "Hello Cousin" she calls out to the lady, before she pauses and nods her head to those she is in company with. "I do hope you would allow me to make your gown." she says quietly to the Lady, still being respectful of her prior conversation.

Jurian smiles slowly, either delighted at the prospect of finding a competent seamstress so soon or amused at how the youth emphasizes his station. "How good of you," he says. "I was afraid there might be nothing of quality here, but it seems that there are wares that are indeed fit for buying and selling." Then he looks back to Marsei. "Dhraegon, that's right," he agrees, nodding, and the reminder does indeed seem to have been necessary. "Ah, your sister," he says, eyes widening a little. "Yes. Forgive me. I have such a…complicated family, I do at times lose track. What a distinct pleasure, then, to meet you." He seems not the least bit distracted by the Northern man, but the flick of his gaze to the Hightower cousin hints at annoyance with the interruption.

Gruff is an apt word to describe Ser Leonte in both manner and dress, he has not changed his light leather armor for finery in spite of his visit into the classier parts of town. Fregrick comes tottering over just as Ser Leonte's eyes fall on the retinue of Great Noble Blood buzzing about the Prince in sight. Softer now, in a conspirator's aside to Freg, "We've just wandered in on the Prince. Best we make our way to where it was we meant to go before we're trading pleasantries with Oldtown's elite." Apparently not on his agenda today. The two hurry along not looking the Prince's way again as they made for the Bawdy Bard like a couple lowly sellswords seeking a pint.

"There is plenty of quality here.", Loryn replies rather proudly, "Should you be interested in the performing arts, you will find the best theatre of the Reach within the confines of this city. And there's the Citadel, too, of course." Priorities, Loryn, priorities! He casts a brief glance towards the cussing man, dismisses him as a typical northron and focuses instead of the arrival of another Hightower. "Lady Lillian." he bows to her.

Marsei smiles understandingly at Jurian, just shy of agreeing too fully in regards to his complex family tree. "Yes, there is not much that cannot be found in Oldtown," she tells the Targaryen, and here pride does touch her voice; it brightens her, enthusiastic toward the huge old city she calls home. "Lady Lillian!" Marsei calls then, joyously waving her cousin nearer, though the ushering is unneeded. "I would be delighted. What brings you to the Square?" She looks beyond the other Hightower girl, concerned for her safety, even if the City Watch does keep a close eye on matters. "May I present my cousin, Lady Lillian. She has her expert hand in the creation of fine fashions as well."

"Oh, but I am interested," Jurian says, with great intensity. "I hope you will tell me more about this theater. I have kinsmen at the Citadel who will inform me about it, but no one has mentioned entertainment. You say it is very fine?" Loryn and Marsei each in turn seem to have his rapt attention, while he completely ignores other things such as swearing Northerners going to bawdy houses. It is almost an uncomfortable amount of focus he dedicates to each of them respectively. Now it's Marsei's turn. "Indeed? Is it really so pleasant here?" Maybe there's a faint note of doubt, but he smiles. "If so, then I am glad. I would hate to feel in exile. I would rather be optimistic that here I shall discover…hitherto unknown delights." Only when Marsei introduces Lillian does the Targaryen widen the sphere of his attention to truly include her. He nods.

Lillian smiles to Jurian and then she smiles to her cousin, "oh just looking at the fabrics, I heard we have had a shipment of some new colors from the north." she pauses and she grins when she is told she can design the dress "oh yes you will have a dress like no other, I garentee." a bright eye turns to the loud and big man and she chuckles before moving to hold one of her cousin's arms.

"I'd be worried now, if I were you.", Loryn stage-whispers to Marsei as Lillian predicts a dress like no other, though it's in good-natured teasing to both of the Hightower ladies. He then looks at Jurian again with fresh appreciation. "I'll be happy to tell you and even better, you are welcome to attend any performance at the Whismy this week free of charge… as a welcome gift to Oldtown, Your Highness." He rummages in his pockets until he finds a wooden chit that he offers to Jurian. Apparently it serves as a ticket.

"We are the largest and oldest city in the Seven Kingdoms," Marsei says, making a point to be welcoming more than anything with the fact. "I am sure you will be welcome everywhere, my prince, not the least of which is at the Hightower." She smiles to Loryn, entertaining his humour before looking to Lillian, comfortable at her arm while her handmaid remains at the other. "From the North?" she queries her cousin, dipping her head slightly toward the other woman with entirely innocent worry in her voice, " — are they grey…?"

Jurian looks delighted, reaching to collect the token from Loryn with a gentle hand. "How pleasing," he says. "The Whimsy. I am certain that you shall see me there within the week. I love a spectacle. I suspect you can tell me many interesting things about how to live well here…Ser Loryn, was it?" His brows loft and then the spotlight swings back to Marsei. "I hope to see the storied Hightower while I am here," he says. He does not weigh in for now about the appropriateness of northern fabrics or of noblewomen making bespoke garments.

Lillian smiles softly to Jurian, she stops speaking as embarrassment floods her features. She turns her eyes off the pretty Prince and she pats Marsei's hand lightly. The Lady of Hightower nibbles on her lips and tries to recover from her social mistake. Her language when she spoke was exotic and mixed accents, she had come home just recently from across the waters. The Noblewoman curtsies and blushes as the silence comes over her.

Loryn nods to indicate that Jurian got his name right. "Many Targaryens have honored us with their presence at Garden Isle, Your Highness, so perhaps you'll do us the honor too? We could turn it into a little welcome party…. all Hightowers included, too, of course.", he turns to Marsei and Lillian with a little smile. They know he can't resist the chance to throw a party.

Marsei gives her cousin's hand a gentle squeeze, flashing her a quick and sincere smile of apology but not focusing on the lady who doesn't wish to be focused upon. She gives Loryn a soft laugh. "Celebrations at the Garden Isle are always to be remembered," she says pleasantly, "as are those at the Dragon Door." Or not remembered, in some cases … and then there's the matter of Hightower festivities of late; let us nevermind that. On the topic of fine manses, she goes on to ask the prince, "Are you on your way to the Dragon Door now? We shouldn't like to hold you up."

Jurian slides his gaze back in Loryn's direction. "I adore a party," he says, "And 'Garden Isle' sounds enchanting even in name. I accept. What a lovely chance to meet people of quality." Now Marsei: "I was, indeed," he tells her. "And yes, I hope we can have some memorable festivities while I am residing there." He smiles and looks a bit thoughtful as she mentions holding him up. "Yes, you do seem to have business with your cousin-seamstress and perhaps with Ser Loryn here, as well. You will forgive my interruption, but it was so helpful to me."

Lillian looks to Marsei and she laughs as the prince turns from them and then she smiles slightly "I hope I did not make too bad of impressions." she watches the pretty prince turn, worry in her eyes. A quiet shift of her shoulders before she murmurs gently "shall we look at the fabric?" she asks "I do not know of its color, or lack of color…" she tells her softly.

Loryn chuckles and looks back to where he left his companions earlier - they have already retreated to a drinks stall though. "I should probably on my way.", he decides, "Please do enjoy your stay in Oldtown and the performance at the Whimsy, Your Highness. I shall send invitations to a welcome party soon. Lady Marsei. Lady Lillian…" He bows deeply to them both.

Seeing as she's been helpful, Marsei beams, contained, of course, within her ladylike poise. "It has been no bother at all," she assures Jurian with a deep nod, "only the loveliest happenstance." Nevertheless, she takes a step back, to give the prince room to pass on his horse, should he need it, nodding to Lillian in the process.

Jurian makes a gesture to each of the three that is not quite a bow, but conveys respect and a desire to see them again. So he doesn't seem scandalized by Lillian, at least. He smiles as he turns aside and goes back to his horse. One of his men dismounts to give him a boost back into the saddle, and they set off. Which is probably a good thing, because some of his retinue were beginning to look a little tired and impatient to get to beds.

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