(122-07-14) A Lady-in-Waiting for a Dragon
A Lady-in-Waiting for a Dragon
Summary: After having a spar in the practice yard of the Palace in Sunspear, Visenya and Torren meet the recently arrived Lara Gargalen.
Date: 14/07/2015 (Date of RP)
Related: Seeds of Peace
Players:
Visenya..Torren..Lara..

Visenya and Torren are in the practice yard, and both in light armor with practice swords held at their sides. It appears they have concluded whatever they were doing, and are now standing near the bucket of water outside of the armory.

"Perhaps we can make a habit of it." Visenya suggests with a small little uptick of her lips before she steps into the cool shade of the armory to begin working on getting her breastplate off. She touches her hip and winces slightly. She will also bear bruises from this encounter.

"I would enjoy that," Torren replies, as he begins to help her out of her armor. They are alone — at the moment — and so maybe his hands linger a little bit more on her than might be considered 'appropriate.' "I was unaware that Northron ladies were so accomplished in swordplay. Besides, of course, your cousin, who makes everything so much harder for herself." There's a little bit of teasing in his voice when he says that.

The silver-haired Targaryen in martial attire with a Prince of House Nymeros Martell is certainly a sight to behold. Which is what Lara Gargalen is mayhaps pondering as she approaches, as the slight upturn of her lips betrays. Her black hair falling about her shoulders in a somewhat orderly manner, brushing against the violet blue silk of the loosely fitting dress, that flutters about her form. Her gait supple, confident, proud; still showing reverence to the two royals as she comes to a halt a few feet away from them, to exercise what she perceives to be a curtsey of Northern standards. The voice soft and polite, perhaps surprisingly so, as she addresses them. "Your highnesses." Straightening she lets her gaze flicker towards Prince Torren, then towards Visenya, studying that silvery hair of hers with hardly concealed fascination. Her hazel-brown eyes shift then to the hands of the Martell, that are conveniently helping the Targaryen out of her armor, and her lips curl even more. Amused. Intrigued. Not at all judgemental. Forgetting almost to introduce herself, or maybe failing to do so on purpose. There is nothing that sparks interest more, than mystery.

"My brother thought it would 'channel my restless energy' if he taught me the basics of swordplay." Visenya says as she stands still to let him help her out of the armor. Her head turns and her eyes tilt upwards to look into his face before she lowers her lashes a bit and says, "But I do not like bragging about it. As I said it tends to make things harder instead of easier. Besides, I'm no good. You only lost because you were tired." Once her breastplate is unbuckled she begins working on the clasps of his. She doesn't get far as Lara's voice interrupts her. She ceases her work on Torren's armor, and turns to look over the Dornishwoman. "Good morning, lady-?" A question hangs in the last portion of her greeting.

"We shall see if he was correct, or mistaken," Torren replies with a smile, though the sound of someone who has approached makes him look up. Though it's immediately clear that Lara is watching them, he certainly doesn't jump away from Visenya, or even really bother to jerk his hands away. He just takes the breastplate she was wearing casually, and moves to set it to the side with an inclination of his head to the new arrival. "Lady Lara," he says, in a voice that denotes recognition but no great knowledge of the other, "good morning." He turns to Visenya, and continues, "I began arranging some suitable Dornish ladies in waiting for you. Lady Lara Gargalen is one." Well, he probably didn't arrange it himself, but he may have gotten the ball rolling, at least.

There is a familiarity between the two, in the way Visenya turns to assist the Martell Prince. The Gargalen lady perceives it with attentive eyes. "Lara Gargalen of Salt Shore," she introduces herself to the Targaryen princess, inclining her head ever-so-slightly in reverence. "Good morning, Princess Visenya.", digesting the name as she speaks it slowly, with emphasis. Her eyes drift to where Torren Martell deposits the breastplate. "Prince Torren." Falling silent then, to allow him to explain, before she adds, towards Visenya: "My family sent me here, as a companion for you. To introduce you to our Dornish ways… if necessary." After all the Targaryen is a Northron. A foreigner. Another glance Lara shoots towards the Prince, smiling as she notes he does not seem to disapprove. But then she will focus her attention on Visenya, standing there in graceful poise as she awaits whatever the Targaryen may have to say to her.

"Oh?" Visenya says to Torren with a slow-forming smile that forms little dimples in her cheeks. "You are very prompt, my Prince." While her voice is not babyish it is high and sweet. Melodic, even. She casts a glance over her shoulder to Torren before taking a step towards Lara. It is well-known that Princess Visenya is not high in the succession, but perhaps the Targaryen King figured the Dornish would appreciate beauty over proximity. It is said that the King's daughters run plump, and while Princess Rhaenyra was a beauty in her youth Princess Halaena is simply a plump little girl. In contrast Visenya fits the part of a Valyrian beauty; lithesome with supple curves and fine features. Her short cut hair is mostly silvery, but when she steps out into the sunlight it has glimmers of gold within it as well. "I am grateful for any instruction that can be given to me, lady Lara." It is said in an innocent enough sounding voice.

Despite the fact that Torren is no callow youth, and already once wed, it does give him pleasure to see that Visenya seems happy with this particular development. He returns the smile, watching her take those few steps forward and into the light. Whether it's her beauty or something else, his gaze is certainly appreciative, before it turns to Lara again. "The wedding plans are tedious, and the Princess Visenya has been lacking in things to occupy her time until the day," he says, reaching to finish removing his own breastplate now. "I would be most grateful if you could remedy that for her, my lady."

Lara's dark eyes widen ever-so-slightly and she cannot help but look impressed when the Targaryen princess steps forward, allowing the rays of the sun to caress the silvery short hair of hers. "Your highness. I will offer as much information as I can," she assures softly, lowering her gaze for a moment. Where Visenya is almost blinding with her silvery hair and pale skin, Lara is the epitome of the Dornish beauty, dark and lithe, but also with the appropriate curves to catch the eye. And while there may be an ethereal grace to the way the Targaryen moves, the Gargalen has a more physical appeal, moving with the confidence of a Dornishwoman who has already tasted the pleasures in life. It shows also in the way her lips curl into a smirk at Visenya's remark, keeping any further comment to herself of course. Her attention shifts to Prince Torren, noting the way he seems already to be captivated by the charms of his bride. She nods, a graceful gesture that involves some slow contemplative fidgeting with a stray strand of black hair. "I will, your highness.", she assures, shifting ever so slightly in her stance, the violet blue silk of her dress fluttering in a light breeze.

"Oh. How wonderful." Visenya says, and she seems very serious and sincere in her words. She doesn't even seem to catch that smirk on Lara's face, and seems to be oblivious to any risque connotation in her words. "The wedding plans are tedious in that I am not the least bit involved in them." She says with almost a pout, "In Oldtown I was famous for my parties." She turns then to help Torren with one last buckle, and confirms the suspicion that she has grown at least somewhat familiar with the Prince. "I've yet to break my fast." She mentions casually. "Perhaps once Prince Torren and I have changed we can do so together?" She adds with a glance to Torren, "Unless it would keep you from your duties?"

While the connotations may be lost on Visenya — and let's be honest, they probably aren't actually lost on her — they are not on Torren. One eyebrow raises, and he looks Lara over in a little bit more of a calculating way. It's a brief glance, though certainly not unnoticeable, but once Visenya comes over to help him finish, he turns back to her, and is able to remove the armor and put it away, as well. "Not at all," he says. "I can certainly spare the time for such a pleasant invitation, my princess." He turns back to nod to the both of them, and says, "I shall meet you both in the solar." With that, he starts out into the yard and toward the tower.

"Parties?", echoes Lara, raising both brows. "I am sure you have never been to a Dornish party, your highness. It is quite different from what you are used to." She smiles, some excitement and anticipation dancing in her dark eyes. It is not her intention to belittle Oldtown parties, it is just that Lara cannot imagine them to be other than rather boring in comparison. "I would like to break my fast with you," she smiles, looking from Visenya to Torren, just in time to catch that appraising glance of his; tilting her head slightly to the side as she meets his gaze, briefly, until he breaks it to turn his attention towards his betrothed. "Very well, your highness," she intones softly to his announcement of joining them in the solar. Her gaze following him for a moment as he moves off before it flits to the Targaryen princess. "Shall I accompany you to your room, your highness? You wanted to change into something more comfortable?", she asks, the tone friendly, her gaze curious.

"Oh, is it?" Visenya asks in a neutral tone. Her face is a congenial mask; serene smile in place so her true thoughts regarding anything are carefully guarded. "Then I suppose I shall have more freedom for my parties, then." Her eyes flick between Torren and Lara when Torren looks at the other woman, but her notice is brief. "I'm glad to hear it, my prince." Her mask slips a bit, and she gives him a brief but genuine smile. When Lara mentions accompanying Visenya to her room she says, "Oh. I won't be long. But if you'd like to?"

"Freedom, yes. That should please you, I suppose," the Gargalen lady remarks in all sincerity. "It's like the dresses. You Northron ladies are always tied up in these corsets. How can you stand it, I wonder?" Her fingers move to brush over the fabric of her gown, adjusting it just a tad, and she smiles. The smile does not reach to the eyes, Lara considering the other woman with likewise attention. "Of course," she replies to Visenya's question. "If you have no objections?" This lady-in-waiting role is something she needs to grow into apparently. She will follow the Targaryen should she agree, at the same confident stride she has displayed before.

"It's funny." Visenya says as they walk towards the tower where the Targaryen's are hosted. Apparently she will not move into the Tower of the Sun until after she is married, "When we say Northron we mean above the Neck to the Wall. There women generally do not wear corsets." She gives Lara an askance look before adding, "And not all styles of dress require corsets in…ah, I suppose you call it the North. During the hottest part of the summer we often wear silk dresses that are not so different from your Dornish robes, and no corsets or else we would all faint. Besides, corsets provide a nice silhouette. It has nothing to do with restriction. Just fashion." Her lesson in fashion within the Kingdoms outside of Dorne given she continues onwards, "No. I don't mind at all."

Later on the two women join Torren in the solar for the morning meal. Visenya wears a gown in the Dornish style that is the color of a pale rose. Mostly because it is too hot to wear the gown she wore earlier in the day. She sits down at the table to wait for Torren, and glances idly out of the open casement window leading to a balcony.

It is not too long before Torren joins them, in sandsilk robes as he and the rest of the Dornish princes tend to wear. He starts toward them with an easy smile, and when he arrives he inclines his head to them, greeting, "Princess. My lady." He pulls out a chair and sits down, and it's not too long after that their breakfast is brought in, typical lighter fare for such a hot day. "How pleasant to escape my duties for a brief while."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd refer to yourselves as Northrons," Lara Gargalen replies with ease in her tone. "There is always something further North, is there not?" Giving up her place behind the Targaryen as she catches up to her, moving with the prowling elegance of a feline. Still, there is a moment of pause, when a bit knowledge of fashion is shared. "Is that so?", the black-haired lady asks, looking a bit surprised. "Dresses of silk?" A low snort following next, while she maintains an amiable smile. "Corsets, noone shall ever force me to wear one." She appears to be content indeed with her current attire, the silken gown flowing about her, shifting with every tiny movement she makes as she continues on.

The changing of dress goes swifter than planned, and the Gargalen lady assesses the Targaryen in Dornish attire with an impressed glance. "It suits you well," she murmurs with an approving nod, as she sits down beside Visenya, in the same gown of violet blue she has worn before. When Torren arrives, she remains seated, inclining her head to his greeting as her eyes briefly take in his attire and appearance. When the breakfast is brought in, she will choose some of the spicier dishes. And mayhaps some Dornish Red, if available.

"Thank you." Visenya says in a soft tone to Lara. When Torren enters she also remains seated, "Prince Torren." When the food arrives she favors fresh fruits and strained yogurt along with flat bread smeared with a sweet paste made from dates and chopped nuts. It is too early in the morning for even a Northron woman who professes to like parties to drink it seems, and she has lemon water instead. "Have you spoken to your cousin?" She asks Torren with a brief flickering up of her eyes. "I heard she tried gutting her betrothed after the feast." An amused and somewhat pleased little smirk crosses her lips.

Torren's smile twists wryly at the mention of his cousin and her betrothed, and the latter's supposed narrow escape from death. "I do not tend to speak to my cousin unless it is a matter of absolute necessity," he replies, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "The Princess Emira and I have never seen eye to eye on very much, and I find it preferable to show my admiration for her from afar." This is said very dryly. "Though I am certainly glad that there was no actual bloodshed." Or not much, anyway. Maybe there was a little, who knows?

It is never too early in the day for a goblet of Dornish Red. Still, this one goblet will be all Lara Gargalen will have in regards to wine on this morning. She deposits the goblet onto the table, the fingers of one hand curling about its stem while the index finger of the other is drawn across her lower lip, removing a droplet of wine that somehow has managed to remain there. A small stuffed pastry with smoked ham, nuts and some goat cheese she grabs from her plate and eats in silence as Visenya speaks, her brows lifting ever so slightly. Lara has heard the gossip, of course. Her dark eyes are raised to look towards Torren, noting his comment about Princess Emira. "She seems to be very spirited," she remarks softly. "Still… I cannot comprehend why she should attack such a handsome man as her betrothed." Her lips twist into the hint of a smirk. Maybe she even was there when it happened, getting a glimpse of the other matched Targaryen.

"I haven't spoken to my cousin, either. So, all I've heard are rumors." Visenya picks up her glass and has a swallow before she has a bite of the flatbread. "I saw Princess Emira after we went out to the desert. I was in the stable after you left, and she must have been in the training yard." This is clearly directed to Torren, "She didn't mention anything about it. Although I don't suppose she'd run around screaming about how she'd almost stabbed a Targaryen last night." She looks up at Lara before she says jestingly, "He is handsome. A lot of men are handsome. It doesn't mean they aren't also stabbable."

"Indeed she is," Torren replies to Lara, about his cousin being 'spirited.' His gaze turns back to Visenya, and a little snort of laughter escapes him at her last words. "I'd wager that there is not a one of us who has not inspired someone with the wish to stab us at one point or another," he continues, reaching for a pastry of his own. "We are a vexing lot, and can only hope for the forbearance of you all to keep us alive."

Lara continues to nibble on her spicy pastry, content for now to listen to the conversation between prince and princess. Until Visenya comments on her remark about Rhaegor Targaryen, and she cannot help but shake her head with a soft giggle. "It's such a waste though," she objects, in a half-hearted attempt to ease the mood. It is Prince Torren's reply that has her smile intensify before she shakes her head a second time. "Your highness, I've never felt inclined to stab a handsome man in my life…" Maybe do other things to him, but Lara is prudent enough not to indulge too openly in frivolities at the moment. After all, the Prince's betrothed is about.

"You haven't made me want to stab you yet." Visenya says to Torren before she smiles, and her nose wrinkles a bit in mirth, "But perhaps I haven't known you long enough." She bites her bottom lip to suppress her smile, and has another sip of her lemon water. If she notices that smile from Lara to Torren she makes no note of it. Instead she says, "But I know Prince Rhaegor. The man is as unyielding as iron. I should have liked to been a fly on the wall for that." And then she pops a date into her mouth.

Torren does catch the smile from Lara, and his head cants to the side as his own smile pulls up a little bit. "I am glad to hear it," he says, "as I have quite a bit to worry about without having to look over my shoulder to avoid the daggers of my future wife's companions." He looks back over to the wife in question, and another laugh escapes him, this one more genuine. "I shall endeavor to keep it so, my princess," he says. "Perhaps a warning, if I am nearing stabbing territory." He takes a bite of his pastry, chewing thoughtfully as Visenya continues. "That match will be an interesting one to watch," he admits. "Two such strong personalities."

Another small sip is taken from her goblet of wine, when Lara Gargalen observes the Targaryen princess as she makes her remark about stabbing - which displays a bit of teasing on the Targaryen's part. Prince Rhaegor being of less interest to the dark Dornish lady than the silvery haired newly acquired charge of hers. "You need not fear my dagger," Lara assures softly, allowing her gaze to linger for a moment on the Martell prince, her lips curving at his display of mirth, even if it occurs in reaction to Visenya's tease. There is still a bit of Dornish Red left in the goblet as Lara moves to rise, the silken gown shifting in place as she straightens. "Your highnesses… if you will excuse me for a moment. It seems I have forgotten to write a letter about my safe arrival to Lord Gargalen. I need to hurry, or the men he has sent along to bring me safely here will already have left." The explanation is brought forth with an apologetic tone. Her gaze lingering first on Visenya, before it shifts to Torren. "Forgive me my thoughtlessness. I'll return as soon as the letter is on its way to Salt Shore." A hint of a bow is offered, one arm coming up across her torso, before the lady-in-waiting moves off, not too hurriedly, but in her characteristic gait that is pleasing to look at and promising at the same time.

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