(122-07-17) Typical Dornish Dinner Party
Typical Dornish Dinner Party
Summary: People are drunk and inappropriate.
Date: Date of play (07/17/2015)
Related: None

The incident of the previous day has luckily seemed to have passed. There are, perhaps, angry glances between the Targaryen retinue and the Dornish, but whatever Rhaegor said to his men, coupled with what Torren had said in the yard, has put a lid on any violence. For now. Who can say what the future holds? Hopefully some violence and bloodshed.

…I mean, what?

Anyway. At the moment, it's time for dinner, and Torren and his betrothed have arranged to eat with Alaeyna and her…whatever. Baby daddy. Because that definitely won't be awkward at all for anyone! No, it will be very fun. The food has been served in the solar, but Torren seems to have been caught up with something, because he has not yet arrived.

Maelys has excused himself from the table for the moment, and Torren is yet to arrive, and so it is Alaeyna and Visenya who sit opposite each other. The former has a goblet of wine to hand, watching the latter with dark eyes glittering with delight for the irony of the situation. "Your uncle has been a marvelous companion these past many moons," the Fury of Skyreach observes casually, in an effort at making conversation. She glances to the doorway the Prince of Ashes only just moments earlier disappeared through, and then back at Visenya.

It is not polite to eat before the host has arrived. And so Visenya has drank instead. Strongwine. On an empty stomach. She is also holding a cup in her hand, and watching Alaeyna from across the table with a beautiful smile plastered on her face. Anyone looking in on them would assume they are the closest of friends. "There is never a dull moment with him around." She has another sip of wine before putting the goblet down. "He says you are to be wed. Congratulations are in order."

Alaeyna tears a piece of flatbread from the crescent on her plate, using it to sweep up the spicy chickpea and olive paste that accompanies it. Do they say that, about eating? Well, the Lady Fowler seems oblivious to such rules. She watches Visenya put away more of the wine while she chews, flashing the Targaryen a similarly toothy smile when she's done. "I hope we will be able to count you among our guests," the Dornish Dragonrider — a nickname she's earned in the course of the very courtship they speak of — says in reply.

It's also not polite for the host not to be there before his guests, but, you know. These things happen. Mercifully for the two women who are totally friends and don't dislike each other at all, it's not too long after that Torren comes in. He's looking highly annoyed, but he manages to smooth that expression away as though he'd never worn it pretty soon after he enters. Perhaps not soon enough for them not to notice it, but certainly soon enough for them to pretend like they haven't noticed it, if they wish. "Princess Visenya," he says with a nod to her, and then a not to Alaeyna, "Lady Alaeyna. Forgive me, I was unavoidably detained." He moves to sit, glancing at Maelys' chair, "I see the Prince of Ashes has already despaired of my arrival."

"I wouldn't miss it." Visenya responds smoothly. She watches Alaeyna eat the flatbread with an envious little look. She will be excused on account of her womb, but Visenya must continue to suffer. But oh look! There is Torren so she can finally soak up some of the Strongwine churning in her stomach. She does catch the look of annoyance on his face, and her brow arches slightly as she watches him. "My Prince." She says in return, but does not question him. Yet. She leaves explaining Maelys' absence to Alaeyna.

Alaeyna rises before Torren sits, offering him a kiss to either cheek, and then she resumes her place at the table, reaching for her cup of wine as if she'd never abandoned it at all. She has herself a drink, feigning oblivion toward the expression he'd borne when he entered, if not the reason for Maelys's absence. "One of his men came calling for him. I'm sure he'll be back sooner or later." As though this were merely par for the course. "The perils of princedom," she says airily, glancing at the Martell who'd arrived late to his own dinner.

Alaeyna's greeting is returned, and once everyone is settled again, Torren starts to serve himself, with more gusto than usual. It's not that he doesn't usually eat — he certainly does. It's just that he's not generally so interested in it as he seems to be now. But maybe he skipped lunch. "Indeed," he comments in reply to Alaeyna's words, with a wry smirk. "I shall gladly switch places with anyone who covets the position." Though these words seem a little bit as though he's poking fun at himself. Since really, he wouldn't do that. "So, are you to be wed, or aren't you?" he says, shaking off whatever it is that he had been thinking about before. "I keep hearing conflicting reports."

Visenya begins to serve herself once Torren has began to put things on his plate. She favors the heavier fare today; chicken in a sweet tart sauce with lemons from lemonwood, and just enough pepper to make it almost unbearable to her palate. She gets in a few bites of the food before she finally speaks, "I was just invited to the wedding so I hope so." She licks honey sauce off of her finger before looking between Alaeyna and Torren, "But how would that work? Are you not Lady of Skyreach?"

"Conflicting reports? I can't imagine from who." Alaeyna aims her grin in Torren's direction, favoring her wine with another sip and chasing it with a bite of a wedge of hard cheese. She reclines in her chair casually, wearing fine silks of Targaryen crimson that matched the Prince of Ashes's own robes, when they'd arrived together for the meal. She has benefited from his affections; Fowler was never an ostentatiously wealthy house, but jewels ring her fingers now. Visenya's question prompts her to tilt her head. "I do not understand the question."

"Were you?" Torren asks as he looks to Visenya, and his smile settles a little more easily on his face the further away from whatever it was that he gets. "How thoughtful. Please let me know the date when you receive your formal invitation so that I may have plenty of time to come up with an appropriate gift." He rolls up some peppers and cheese in a piece of flatbread and takes a bite, looking between the two women with an amused expression. Maybe he's taking a little bit of smug pleasure from having them both at the same table. He shouldn't. But there you are.

"I do not understand how Rhyonish inheritance works completely yet." Visenya responds easily enough as she pushes a piece of flatbread across her plate. "It is a curiosity of mine since inheritance is such an important issue in the North." She pops a bit of bread into her mouth and chews. "But really it's none of my business." Her eyes turn towards Torren then and she picks up a wine goblet before asking, "I hope everything went smoothly today?"

Alaeyna smiles at Visenya's self-proclaimed ignorance, retrieving an olive from her plate and popping it into her mouth casually. "How lucky for House Fowler and for Skyreach that I do," she says to the princess, before glancing in Torren's direction. She abides his smugness in good humor. Perhaps she's just as amused by the circumstances. And then she says, "I trust you'll see to it she receives a vigorous education in all of our fine Rhoynar traditions," a mischevious brow quirked in his direction. Fuck it, her smile is smug, too.

Alaeyna's look does not escape Torren, and he replies smoothly, "Of course. I pride myself in my…intimate knowledge of those traditions." Though he then turns to Visenya and continues, in a more matter-of-fact and less suggestive tone, "She will continue to be Lady of Skyreach," he says, "and he will be her consort, as my mother is still the Lady of Sunspear, though she is wed." Visenya's inquiry into his day makes his smile fade a little bit, though, and he sighs in a very put-upon manner. "As smoothly as it could," he says. "The Qorgyles are spoiling for blood. A bit of an overreaction to the natterings of an idiot child, but there you are. Hopefully it will not come to that."

Alaeyna and Torren's innuendo seemingly goes over Visenya's head. Or at least she acts as if she doesn't understand it. Torren's explanation of what will happen if Alaeyna marries Maelys gets a little nod of her head, but her attention is on what Torren says, "I heard what see Aelyn said. It was…" She wrinkles her nose in disgust, "It was distasteful. But what I do not understand is why the Qorgyles have taken offense. Are they closely related to the Blackmonts?" She lets Torren explain the situation to Alaeyna.

Alaeyna arches a brow at that, and turns her sharp, expectant stare on Torren. The question about the Blackmonts is enough to stoke her suspicions as to what the comment in question might have entailed, and it causes the notoriously hotheaded Lady Fowler to bristle.

Alaeyna's question gets another sigh from him, and Torren says, "Aelyn Targaryen does not know when to close his mouth, and decided to comment on the Red Rookery. Manfryd Qorgyle took offense, and we barely avoided a duel in the yard yesterday." His expression is a bit harder now; whatever was said probably affected him more than he is letting on to most people. "They are not, but he imagined himself defending my honor. But it is not about that. There are many Dornishmen who would like nothing more to spill any blood they can in the name of retribution. No matter whose it is."

Alaeyna Fowler may or may not be one of them. She makes a sound like a hiss, and she says, "Bring me Aelyn Targaryen and I will see that he does not repeat his mistake." It's an unbridled threat, and no doubt she'd make good on it at Torren's command, child in her belly or no. The expression she wears is a similarly hard, drawn one. She doesn't look at Visenya. Instead she cools her fury with a draught of wine.

Alaeyna's shunning does not bother Visenya overly much. She, Torren, and Alaeyna sit at a table and sup together. There are two empty chairs, one recently vacated by Maelys and the other which was left when Lara was called away on a task before Torren came. Instead she offers, "Aelyn is not so highly placed that the family would risk disruption in peace proceedings over his foolish words." She picks up her own goblet and wets her lips before saying, "I am surprised Prince Rhaegor has not forced him to apologize."

Lara Gargalen slips back in - almost unnoticed. This an art in itself, to apparently make an entrance that outwardly is not seeking attention, while the grace and litheness displayed in such an act draws it at the same time. The black-haired lady wears a loosely fitting gown of light green sandsilk that charms her form, her lips are curled into a curious smile, her dark eyes meanwhile glancing mischieviously towards Prince Torren, for a brief spell. Another glance goes to the Lady of Skyreach, her eyes shifting from the spirited expression on the woman's features to the curve of her belly. Then it is Visenya's turn. "Your highness, I'm back," she announces, the tone soft and polite, a vague smile offered to the Targaryen. Still, there is a sparkle in her eyes, a bit of fading delight showing in the slightly rosy tinge of her cheeks. She resumes her seat from before, choosing to remain silent for a moment to catch what the conversation currently is about.

Alaeyna may not be the only one at the table who does, especially considering that Torren was intimately connected to the Blackmonts, but though her offer does get a bit of a grateful look from him, Torren replies, "I do not wish to sully our wedding with any such unpleasantness." After the wedding, though, is a completely different story. "He may have, and Aelyn has not quite found the appropriate moment." Though his words are very dry.

The reentrance — or for him, first entrance — of Lara distracts him from what he was saying, and he glances her way, picking up his wine so that he can take a sip. His eyes linger a moment or two on her as he nods, and says, "Lady Lara. Please excuse my late arrival."

Alaeyna catches the look from Torren, and merely nods at his response, duly deferential to the Martell prince's whim, even if she does not thrill for being kept in check when she'd rather cut out the insolent boy's tongue. She does a little silent seething, but when Lara returns she flashes the Gargalen a wicked smile. "There you are, darling. My, but aren't you flush." She takes a pointed sip of her wine, raking the other Dornishwoman with her sharp, sparkling stare.

Visenya's eyes turn upwards when Lara gives Torren that mischievous little glance, and when Torren's gaze lingers on her longer than a second there is a slight, subtle narrowing of Visenya's eyes. And in a flash it is gone, and she is drinking more wine. "Lady Lara." She smiles prettily then, and completely ignores the overly-rosiness of her lady-in-waiting. "Perhaps it would be best if Ser Aelyn left to return to Dragonstone?" She picks up an olive from the table, and pops it into her mouth.

Lara's gaze shifts to Torren, a brow lifting in surprise he would apologize for being late to her. "Your Highness. Please excuse my late return.", she quips back, perhaps noting his lingering stare. It is Lady Fowler though, whose question draws a melodious chuckle from her lips, and she meets her gaze with eyes that are totally devoid of any awkwardness. "Am I?" She leans to the side, taking a sip from her wine and catches her lower lip with her teeth. "I fear my task involved quite a bit of exertion.", the Gargalen confesses with a slightly scandalous smirk. A smirk that will soon turn into a more Northron ladylike smile, attempting even to match the sweetness of the Targaryen. Her dark eyes shift from Visenya to Alaeyna. "Ser Aelyn? What about him?"

The gravity of the previous discussion is somewhat alleviated by Lara's arrival. Torren turns his gaze back to Visenya, and after a second, nods. "Perhaps it would," he agrees. "At least it would alleviate some of the bad feelings. I do not wish to experience the effects of two much wine thrown onto this particular disagreement." That's a euphemism if ever one was spoken. At Lara's question, he continues, "Merely that he made an inappropriate jest, to which some others took offense." Probably, if they're talking about sending him back to Dragonstone, it was a bit more than that, but if it was, Torren's not mentioning it.

Alaeyna is dissatisfied with this particular encapsulation of events, and so she answers Lara directly. "This Aelyn is a Targaryen knight that would seem to crave his own bloodshed by a Dornish blade. Or so I must assume, on account of his having come to Sunspear to gloat over the villainy of his countrymen at the Red Rookery." She drains what's left of her wine, letting the cup land a bit heavily on the table before she leans back in her seat, her fingers drumming idly upon the arm of her chair as if to expend a bit of the hostile energy memory of the massacre invokes.

"I shall ask Prince Rhaegor to send him home, then." Visenya says with a small little nod to Torren, "And I shall act like it is my prerogative as a bride who does not want her wedding feast ruined with their quarrel." She puts another piece of a savory pie onto her plate, and attacks it vigorously with her knife before eating it with her fingers.

The Gargalen lady listens to the explanations Torren and Alaeyna give her, sipping from her goblet of wine. The easy manner she had displayed before fading a touch - much like that rosiness fades from her cheeks. "Ser Aelyn sounds like he is a damned fool," she comments, shaking her head. "A fool without manners, and with a deathwish. Those are the worst, aren't they?" She nods to Visenya's announcement of speaking to her brother about Ser Aelyn, but does not comment otherwise, dark eyes lingering instead on Prince Torren for a moment - in a contemplative fashion.

Alaeyna's rather more detailed — and, one might say, more accurate — version of the incident gets a little sigh from Torren, but he does nod to confirm that that is, in fact, what happened. "How fortunate that no one shall think twice about it should you ask it of him, my princess," he replies to Visenya, and the smile he gives her is a little bit softer than his previous ones. As to him being a fool, well: "He is indeed, though no more foolish than Manfryd Qorgyle who now wishes to challenge him to a duel. Idiot children, the both of them."

When Torren refers to the Qorgyle as foolish, Alaeyna gives him a sideways look that leaves no question what she thinks of that particular assessment. But what she says aloud is, "Shall we not speak of something else, lest the food and wine sour in our mouths for the words with which we taint our tongues?" She motions for one of the attendants to refill her cup, and once that's done, she lifts it to propose a toast. "To Dorne. Strong, proud, unbent, unbowed, unbroken." And then she drinks.

Visenya offers Torren a smile in return and a humble lowering of her head. "I am too vain to let Aelyn Targaryen steal my thunder on that particular day." She lifts her chin to look into his eyes briefly, and her smile widens ever so slightly. It is as if looking at him gives her reason enough to smile. And then Alaeyna is calling for them to move on and to toast Dorne itself, and she raises her glass to toast and drink.

Shifting a little in her seat, Lara listens to Torren's rather diplomatic approach to evaluate what has passed between two hotheaded knights of different lairs. Her dark eyes lowering for a moment to study the wine she swirls in her goblet, with one brow raised. "Duels…", she muses softly. "… tend to be such a waste of potential." Not elaborating further on that, as she takes another sip savoring the wine with the attention it deserves. The toast of Lady Fowler is a most welcome distraction. "Indeed," Lara agrees, looking up to meet Aleayna's gaze. "To Dorne. With its hot deserts, swift horses, and many delights.", she adds with the hint of a smirk. A sideways glance is given to the silvery-haired Targaryen princess.

"No one could hope to do so," Torren replies to Visenya's words, his eyes locking on hers for a second or two, before he reaches for his glass to raise it in toast when Alaeyna suggests it. He certainly not going to refuse to change from an unpleasant topic to a lighter one. He starts to lift it to his lips, but when Lara adds her words, he pauses, and his smile shifts a little bit, perhaps slightly more amused. "To Dorne," he says, though he does not add anything else. Perhaps he feels that both she and Alaeyna have covered it quite well. Instead, he lifts his cup and drinks.

Alaeyna's hardly had time to enjoy her fresh cup of wine when Maelys's sworn sword, the one that had come to retrieve him earlier, appears in the doorway. She nods, and he approaches to murmur something in her ear, glancing apologetically at Prince Torren though not knowing exactly what ceremony to stand on with the Dornish heir. Rather than speaking to worry or concern, Alaeyna's expression is an amused one, her smile a touch wicked. She nods to dismiss the messenger, and then returns her attention to the others at the table. "Lest there be anyone at this table not to have begged the forgiveness of the others, let me ask it of you now. It would seem the Prince of Ashes requires my assistance, and who am I to deny him?" She rises from her seat, seeming inclined to take the cup with her as she goes.

Visenya gives Lara an askance look when she feels the Gargarlen's eyes on her. "To Dorne." She says, echoing everyone else but adding nothing of her own. She finishes off the strong wine in her glass before picking up the pitcher on the table, and refilling her cup along with everyone else's while the servants clear away dishes and replace them with fruit and sweets. "What is he doing?" Visenya asks with a little smile and a shake of her head before she says, "Nevermind. I probably don't want to know." She has drank enough, what with what as already in her stomach along with the toast, to put a bit of a flush on her cheeks. "We should play a game."

There may be a slight shake of the head, her lips curled in amusement, when both Torren and Visenya echo the plain and simple toast, without adding anything. Lara's amusement increasing when Lady Fowler makes her excuse and exit, that wicked grin of Alaeyna being met with a light lift of the brow, expressing something close to 'your turn now?'. "I am sure you will assist him well, Lady Fowler," the Gargalen lady cannot help but remark, raising her goblet in a mock toast to drain it next. Dark eyes shift to Visenya, once Alaeyna is gone, and Lara smiles, noting the rosiness on the Targaryen's cheeks. "A game? Certainly. What kind of game do you suggest, your highness?", she asks.

"Our dinner is destined to be forever interrupted," Torren comments when Alaeyna takes her leave, though his smile pulls a little wider as she goes. He turns back to Visenya at her suggestion then, and his eyebrows raise. "A game, princess? What did you have in mind?" Though he certainly doesn't seem as though he's opposed to the idea on principal. He reaches for a date to pop into his mouth while he waits.

"It's a simple game." Visenya says, and she pulls the pitcher a little closer to her. As if assuming that she will be refilling someone's glass soon enough. "We say 'Never have I ever' and then you make a statement. Those who have done it must drink, and then they must explain why they are drinking. If no one drinks then the person who said 'Never have I ever' must drink." She grins mischievously before saying, "I shall begin!" Her lips twitch upwards, "Never have I ever…" She giggles, and holds a hand over her mouth before finishing, "…snuck out of a dinner party to have a tryst."

Lara certainly has gotten a refill, given her goblet was already empty. The rules of the game, as presented by Princess Visenya, do amuse her as the smirk betrays. One sip is already taken in advance, as she shifts to lean to the side, aware perhaps of the way in which the shifting light green sandsilk rearranges about her curves. The first statement of the Targaryen draws a chuckle from her lips, her dark brown eyes shifting ever-so-briefly in the direction Alaeyna has left. The goblet in her hand is considered for a moment, but not put down onto the table. Instead, Lara Gargalen takes a good sip from it. Smiling at prince and princess as she sets it down, catching her lower lip briefly with her teeth, the expression on her features looking slightly caught there. "To be honest, I've done it now and then. If the tryst promises to blow me away, that is.", she admits with a light shrug of a shoulder.

The game sounds easy enough, and once Visenya's finished explaining, Torren nods, sitting back a little bit in his chair. When she offers her first contribution, however, he raises an eyebrow, tipping his head to the side a little bit and studying her intently. He looks highly amused, but instead of saying anything, he just raises his cup to his lips and takes a sip. "Surely it is a well-known fact that a prince Dorne has sometimes escaped dull dinner parties for something much more entertaining," he says, in lieu of actually explaining whatever Tryst he's referring to, and while his words are proper — or as much as they can be — his voice is heavy with meaning.

"I think it is my turn?" he asks, and he looks between the two of them, still with the smirk on his face. "Hm." He draws it out, as though whatever he's going to ask is of great importance, before finally coming out with, "Never have I ever ridden a dragon."

"No one would begrudge a Martell Prince his diversions." Visenya says to Torren with a little twitching upwards of her lips that soon enough turns into another giggle that is accompanied by a mirthful wrinkle of her nose. Her cheeks seem to pinken further despite the fact that she hasn't had more to drink yet. Lara's words cause another twitch upwards of her lips. "So it has to be a good one to miss out on the second course?" She gives Torren a bit of a pout, "You're no fair." She complains lightly despite having just aimed her question at getting Lara to drink. She picks up her goblet for a swallow then. "Lady Lara's turn, I believe."

"Indeed not," Torren replies, and of course, he does not need to drink, since he had more or less cheated by asking his question. He just lets out a laugh at Visenya's accusation, though, and says, "I hope you are not begrudging me my diversions." His eyes linger on her for a second more before they move to Lara, and he waits for the woman's question, cup in hand, as though expecting to need to drink again.

Lara smiles when she witnesses the sip Prince Torren takes, the vagueness of his words amusing her obviously. Her own goblet remains untouched at the statement about riding a dragon, her brows lifting in regret. "Not yet," she murmurs, with a bit of mischief dancing in her eyes. Little suprised she seems to be to see Visenya take a sip. But then it is her turn. The Gargalen needs a moment to consider. A long moment. She may have already done a lot in her young life. Her eyes shift to Torren, meeting his expectant gaze. "Never have I ever… left Dorne, to explore the… marvels of the North.", she intones with a slightly suggestive smirk.

"Why Prince Torren. Do you mean to get me drunk?" Visenya retorts, and when his eyes linger on her she flushes prettily and much more quickly than she might in another circumstance. Lara's 'not yet' earns another laugh from her, and she says, "Be careful, lady Lara. The last dragon I rode left scars on my inner thighs." She puts down her goblet without drinking and points out, "I have just arrived at Dorne, and have yet to leave."

Torren looks meaningfully at Visenya's cup, though then when Lara speaks, he lets out a laugh, and takes a drink from his own cup. He does not seem affected yet from the wine, but then, he's probably used to it. "How lucky that you will have occasion to do so now," he comments to Lara with a little smile. "I have explored some, though some remain as yet uncharted." He looks back to Visenya when he says this, just in time for her answer, which gets another laugh. "Fair enough," he says, "and your turn."

"I was referring to dragons of another kind," Lara replies to Visenya, raising a brow. "As did Prince Torren here, I trust…?" Shooting the Martell a playfully probing glance. "Ah," the Gargalen's fingers brush over the sandsilk of her gown, as her dark brown eyes continue to linger on Prince Torren, smirking at the exquisite wording of his reply. Even though there is a flicker in her gaze, when he addresses the plans for the time after the wedding. "I am to come along to Oldtown?", she inquires, looking a touch hesitant. "Am I to wear Oldtown attire?" A bit of displeasure showing in her mien.

By the time Alaeyna returns Lara is passed out on a pile of cushions in the corner of the room, and only Torren and Visenya remain at the table. Although Visenya looks like she may be on the way to the cushions herself the way her head lulls about drunkenly, and how flushed her cheeks are from drink. Clearly she hasn't seen Alaeyna yet. "I bet you…" She looks across the table at Torren and bites her bottom lip, "I could bet you a kiss, but I've already given that to you. And I could offer you my bed, but you'll get it in a few days." She laughs then, "What do I even have left to bet?"

Torren, in contrast, is still looking relatively unscathed. Maybe a little bit more flushed than usual, and perhaps with a bit of a looser smile, but other than that, not looking worse for wear. He leans forward, his forearms resting on the table and his eyes on her. "You may have already given that to me, but that does not mean I would not like it again," he says. "Besides, you did not play fairly. You said that you had never left a dinner party for a tryst in the garden. So I believe you owe me an extra forfeit."

A quick glance might be enough to assess the state of affairs, but it's by no means enough to put Alaeyna off of rejoining them. She comes back into the room like it were her own table, reclaiming her seat at it next to Torren. "My, my. I should say it looks as though I missed all the fun," she says, her gaze flitting between Visenya and Lara, "but I'm not convinced I have, yet." She glances, at the last, at Torren. "Or shall I go and leave you to it, my prince?" Even as she asks it, she flicks a hand at the attendant with the decanter of wine, inviting him to fill a cup for her. Leave, indeed.

Visenya leans in just as he does. "I did too play fairly. That was not a dinner party. A dinner party consists of close friends and is intimate. That was a formal banquet, and you are not bound to be missed if you sneak off into the garden…" Her smile broadens, and then she lets out a little laugh before admitting, "I forgot what we were betting over." And then Alaeyna is there. Normally she might have leaned back and acted like she wasn't doing anything inappropriate. Now she remains where she is.

"Oh please, don't stop on my behalf. The story was just getting good." The attendant brings a cup for Alaeyna and fills it with strongwine, and she thanks him with a toothy smile.

"Ah," Torren replies to Visenya, "of course. Well, we shall have to remedy that as well, then." And he might have bridged the distance between them then, but Alaeyna's return interrupts it. He turns, though also doesn't jump back or anything like that. In fact, he just grins widely. "Lady Alaeyna," he says when she comes over, and he's more than happy to fill her cup for her. "Did you find your betrothed? Or, perhaps betrothed? Semi-betrothed?" One of those it probably right. "I hope you were able to assist him with whatever he…needed." He gives her a meaningful look.

"Mount." Visenya offers up after Torren lists off the states of betrothal that Maelys may or may not be. And then she laughs as if she's never said anything funnier. Get it, because Alaeyna is now known as the Dragon rider!

Alaeyna sinks into her seat, wine in hand, and offers Torren and Visenya the same lazy, toothy smile. The sort of smile that gives no fucks about their efforts to chirp her. "Mmm, will your tongue be so loose, Prince Torren, when my Dragon is here by my side? I think I hear him coming now." The chair by her side is left empty for Maelys's use, in anticipation of his rejoining them. Her fine silks of Targaryen crimson are no worse for wear, but the elaborate braid she'd tamed her hair in for the evening meal is not so well-arranged as it had been before she'd left them. Proof, perhaps, of the sort of assistance she'd been sought for. The sort that leaves her languid and in such fine spirits now. Wink wink.

The door swings wide and Maelys Targaryen's shadow falls over the Alaeyna's chair. The Prince is arrayed in a black Dornish robe bedecked with red dragonglass studs. Each of the ornaments is etched with a dragon atop three broken swords. The Prince has taken to riding late at night, and attending dinners and soirees in dust-caked hunter's robes. But tonight, the Prince arrives freshly washed, if a bit flushed. His single attendant is more beast than man: a Dornish screamer, his chest so covered in scars that, at first glance, it looks like cracked leather cuirass. Maelys is silent, quiet as a shadowcat, but the screamer's bells betray him. The Prince halts before Alaeyna's chair and moves to take his bethothed's hands and tender a kiss. "My lady" Only after some four breaths does he break the kiss. Maelys looks to the comatose Gargalen, then to Visenya, lastly to Torren. "Prince Torren, how did my fair niece do, she and the young scorpion, they played at cups?"

"A Dragon of his magnitude can surely weather a loose tongue," Torren replies to Alaeyna, "and has before, if I know you at all." But then the man himself is entering, and Torren turns, "And here he is now!" Maelys' companion barely gets a glance. "Prince Maelys," he says, and the state of the other man only makes his smile spread further. "How fortunate that Lady Alaeyna was able to assist you so well." The question of his niece, though, gets a look to Visenya then, and he continues, "She introduced us to a most diverting game. Though I think perhaps the Lady Lara enjoyed it a bit overmuch." Since the latter is passed out in the corner.

Visenya looks up from her position of gazing at Torren over the table, and languidly leans back in her seat. When she speaks it is in a bit of a drunken ramble, "Clearly the dragon bested the cockatrice for the dragon is still awake. She is a Gargalen, Uncle. Not a Scorpion. That is-" She bites her bottom lip thoughtfully before saying, "Qorgyle!" She thumps a finger against the tabletop, "That is Qorgyle. They are the scorpions." She nods along with what Torren says, "It seems that while lady Lara is better at innuendo and giving other women's betrothed's rather lingering glances I am better at drinking. Huzzah for me."

Alaeyna palms her lover's cheek once he releases her hands from the kiss, and then she rises to her feet, pulling him to her for a scorching kiss, as if the quarter hour they'd just been separated was nigh unbearable. She offers him a drink from her cup of wine, and then asks, "What say you, lover? Shall we join them at their game? I've yet to see much of how it is played, only it seems that it requires the downing of rather a lot of wine and the confessing of deliciously depraved secrets." Her eyes glitter with amusement as she glances in Visenya's direction, the princess presently slamming the table and going on about scorpions.

Maelys leans toward Alaeyna and tilts his chin. He stares at the Fury of Skyreach for an interminable second, then lifts his gaze to Prince Torren. "Prince Torren, my betrothed has always been a puissant assistant, would that I had a squire, a second, or spear-bearer with her… skills in Hesh." Maelys turns to Lady Lara, again, after the Prince makes mention of his niece. A low laugh rolls up from his throat. He turns to his niece and the chuckle gains volume. "A cockatrice, dear niece, ah, well I think it comes from drinking strongwine with Rhaegor and I."

Maelys blinks at Alaeyna's suggestion. He dips his head and falls to one knee, snaking Alaeyna's hand about his neck, he drinks. The Prince tenders a second kiss to his betrothed and moves to pour wine from a decanter atop a table at chair's edge. He turns to Torren, "Quite diverting. How shall we begin?"

Visenya's meandering observations about the various house sigils seems to amuse Torren, though his eyebrows raise at her last words, and he studies her face for a long moment, before he glances briefly to the sleeping Lara in the corner. It's hard to tell what he thinks — if indeed he things anything — and of course the ardent kisses being given right in front of them derail whatever it is.

"I am sure you could find many in Dorne who are willing to assist you in that," he says. "No doubt Alaeyna can assist you very well in your search." When the subject of continuing the game comes up, he looks back to Visenya, and while he doesn't necessarily think it's the best idea for her to keep consuming wine, what he says is, "Do you wish to continue, my princess? Or would you prefer to retire?" Since he's already been upbraided for insinuating that she is a child.

Visenya looks away when Maelys and Alaeyna share that rather passionate kiss. Instead she focuses her attention of Torren, "Retire?" Her lips twitch upwards as if the idea of retiring is ludicrous. "But what would the fun in that be, my Prince?" She reaches for the pitcher of wine to refill her glass, and then leans over to fill Torren and Alaeyna's as well. "The game is called Never Have I ever. What you do is when it is your turn you say 'Never have I ever' and then you say something you've never done. If others have done it then they will drink. If no one else has done it either then you have to drink. If you drink then you have to provide an explanation if it is not obvious." She picks up her goblet before saying, "I will begin. Never have I ever been to Essos."

Alaeyna ushers Maelys into one of the vacant chairs at the table's edge, and once he's seated comfortably, she claims his lap for her own place, leaning against his chest with a comfortable familiarity. She goes to take a sip from her cup of wine when Visenya begins the game, but then stops before drinking, irate. "I thought the idea was to say scandalous things." Evidently she's never been to Essos, and must betray her thirst instead of drinking her wine.

Maelys, for his part, wins a sideways grin from her when he brags about her prowess. She lays a hand on his chest, slipping a hand within his robe to caress him idly.

Maelys spares Visenya a dirk-sim smile and upends his goblet draining half of the wine therein. "I am surprised you became so flush with drink, dear niece." Maelys spins his cup and considers his niece for a time. Then, he turns to his betrothed. "Scandalous… hmmm. I have never, ever lain with a Valemaid." Maelys's gaze runs across the other, measuring all of their number, waiting.

"None at all," Torren replies to Visenya, and he doesn't say anything more about it, just takes back his glass. He does not drink on Visenya's turn, though he does comment to Alaeyna, "Fear not, my lady. I am sure that when it is your turn you shall provide us with something appropriately scandalous." But Maelys is also obliging, and after a second, Torren takes a drink from his cup. "She said her name was Stone," he says once he's through, "though I am not sure that there are any true maids of the Vale who are as dark as she. But I shall give her the benefit of the doubt."

"We used up all the scandalous questions on lady Lara." Visenya says with a small little twist of her lips, "And I didn't want to ask something that I'd already asked for Prince Torren's sake." She does not drink on Maelys' question. Nor does she seem surprised or put off at Torren's confession regarding his valemaid.

Alaeyna gives a fiendish laugh at Torren's confession, even though she does not drink on this particular question either. "Well done, darling," she says to him, tapping a fingertip against her cup of wine ponderously as it would seem to have fallen to her to ask the next round. She twines an arm around Maelys's neck, her free hand holding her glass aloft, and she says, "Never have I taken a Dragon to my bed." And then she drinks, deeply, and when she is done, she pinches the lobe of his ear between the point of her teeth, fleetingly.

"A hedge knight once told me that a man is not a man until he's bedded lain with a Hill, Stone, Sand, and Waters" Maelys swills his goblet and turns to Alaeyna. "He was with me at Lhazar, the hoary old man died of a pox."

"My master-at-arms held a contrary view, he said that a true knight must lie with only the finest blooms from the vine of maidenhood. He was a lonely old stoat."Maelys arches a brow at the next query. He does not drink, but rather turns to look upon his niece and future goodnephew. "Alas, one of my cousins tried, but I was rather intimidated by her, at eight-and-ten."

"Thank you," Torren says, giving Alaeyna a wink, before he turns his gaze back to Visenya, and though he's not touching her, the look he gives her is almost as intimate as the touches that the other pair are sharing. However, despite this look, he also does not drink on Alaeyna's turn. "I can well imagine being intimidated by a Targaryen woman," he says, turning his cup around in his hands as he looks between the three of them, considering what to use for his next turn. "Never have I ever…bedded a Martell."

Visenya does not drink to bedding dragons. It seems Alaeyna is alone in that. "Now if you had asked about failed betrothals I would have to drink twice." She lets out a laugh at Maelys' words, "Oh, who?! A cousin distant or far from us?"

And then her eye catches Torren's, and she gives him an appreciative look. That is until he asks his question. Now she looks slightly abashed. And then she picks up her goblet and drinks, but offers no explanation.

"Perhaps for your next nameday, I shall present you with one of each and make a true man of you," Alaeyna teases Maelys about Stones, Hills, Waters and Sands, "Only you'll need promise to share them with me." The arm snaked around his neck tightens, briefly, in a squeeze, and she seems content to lounge there against the Prince of Ashes while they have their game. Torren's question prompts her to glance at Visenya, instinctively, though she's already drinking from her own cup while she watches the princess drink from hers. She yields the next question to Maelys, swilling the wine left in her glass as if to test how much is left.

"Some of them are proper spitfires, Prince." Here, Maelys directs a meaningful look at his niece. And now, the tables have turned. Maelys's lips turn up into a half-smile. He turns then to Alaeyna and favors her with look… best describe as a mocking charicature of an offended lover… or one of those poppish Reach gallants. "Then, I must gift you a slave from each of the Free Cities, in Lys you see, a … well…" At the next he actually gapes a bit. "I shan't be covetous my lady." The Prince wraps his left hand about the Fury of Skyreach and considers the next question. "I have never defaced the aspect of a god…"

Torren sees Visenya's look just before she drinks, and there's a very brief flash of something that looks a little bit like guilt. But it's gone after a second, because Maelys' reaction to Alaeyna's suggestion of gifts — and who will do what with them — makes him burst into laughter. It's just slightly too loud, a better indication of his state of sobriety than his voice, or his current mien. "It wouldn't do you the slightest bit of good if you were, Prince Maelys," he manages once he's composed himself, "especially since you plan to wed." He does not drink on Maelys' turn, though.

Visenya has gone a bit quiet since Torren's question, and has seemed to shrink a bit in her seat. There is no knowing smile or blush exchanged with the Prince which may indicate that he is not the Martell that she has taken to her bed. She does not drink at Maelys' question although she looks about the table curiously to see if anyone will. Finally she speaks to take her own turn. "Never have I ever kissed someone of my gender."

Alaeyna does not drink for Maelys, but she exchanges with him a knowing look that's actually rather devious. She looks relieved at Visenya's question. "Wonderful! I was becoming rather thirsty." She drinks deeply on this one, and that's no surprise. The Fury of Skyreach is known to have kept rather a large stable of paramours over the years, men and women both. She drains her cup, and leans forward to retrieve the decanter, refilling not only her goblet but Maelys's too.

"I fear you are correct, Prince Torran. What's more, I'd better not repeat the sin. I do not wish to make the gods wroth." Though there is something in Maelys's voice, some mirth, or perchance something else entirely, that suggests he could not care less about the gods. When Visenya tenders her question, her challenge, the Prince turns to his betrothed. He lifts his chin and gives Alaeyna an appreciative smile when she downs what remaines of her goblet. "My lady love drinks deeply. She does not favor one pleasure over the other." Maelys tilts his head to Alaeyna and cracks his neck. "Who should go next, ah, Prince Torran, or is it I?"

Torren also does not drink for Visenya's turn, though he is obviously not surprised when Alaeyna does. "She is egalitarian in her tastes," he agrees, and his eyes drift back to Visenya, though Maelys' question does get a reply. "I believe it falls to the Lady Alaeyna," he says, "but I shall take a turn." This time his turn is not calculated to disconcert anyone. Or, it probably isn't. "Never have I ever killed a man." Which may be surprising to some. Or maybe not — he has never been heard to have distinguished himself in battle or in the lists. His talents lie in other areas.

It is well-known that Maelys has killed many men. Alaeyna has fierce rumors regarding her fighting prowess as well. It would be no surprise if they had killed a man. What probably is surprising is when Visenya picks up her goblet, and drinks deeply from it. "I've only killed one man." She says in a soft voice, as if speaking quietly of it makes it less grave than it is. "He came to harm my dragons so I stabbed him in the throat." And then she has another drink. Because Torren asks questions that make her want to drink.

Alaeyna laughs at Torren's offering. "I fear we shall want for wine if we are to drink to that. I will myself take only a dainty sip, but my prince may need to down the entirety of the decanter to make an accurate representation." She does, indeed, take a shameless sip, and it isn't entirely dainty. The Dragonrider is duly impressed by Visenya's response, and she lifts her cup in the princess's direction, as if to toast her fellow murderess. She doesn't elaborate on her own kill list. The company is far too mixed for that. But Torren had said it was her turn next, and so she says, "Very well. I've never…." She pauses dramatically, long enough for an ornery, half-drunk glitter of mischief to light up her stare. "…. maligned the lovely Lady Fowler."

Maelys Targaryen stares at the other Prince. He looks at his cup and the half measure of wine therein. The Prince of Ashes motions to his screamer who, in turn, motions to a serving maid without in the hall. The girl fills Maelys's cup and the Prince drains it, the muscles in his throat drawing the last drop down his gullet. He looks to Visenya, then and lifts his cup in a salute that mirrors his betrothed's gesture. "I never would have thought, but Dragons are more precious than gems, gold, sandsilk…" Maelys turns then to Alaeyna… "Perhaps three decantars, my love. Hesh, Lhazar, and that other milksop city… I misremember the name, but it is a shame to waste good wine on lambmen. I fear two measures must needs suffice, for I only met two men in all three of the cities who had the courage of a green squire." Maelys gestures to the maid and empties his goblet once more. A pause, a moment to think upon the next question, he gestures to the maid once more. The girl refills his decantar and the Prince drinks, yet all the while, he smiles. His eyes never leave Alaeyna's. Some jest mayhaps? "I am much drunker than you, dear lady, you must needs catch up." Maelys stares at her, thinking on his next question.

Torren's question was not meant to make Visenya drink. When she does, he looks very surprised. No, not surprised. Shocked. It doesn't seem as though it's because he cares whether she has or not, however. He's just completely taken aback by it, and after a minute, his expression shifts again with a tiny thread of chagrin. It's one thing when he meant it; it's another when he did not. But he manages to pull his eyes away from her when Maylys drinks, which was, of course, expected, if not quite the quantity consumed. Then Alaeyna asks her question, and Torren takes a deep drink from his cup. "I am sure I have maligned you at one point or another, my lady," he says, "though we are probably even in that by now."

Visenya turns her head down to stare at the table after her confession. She appears slightly disturbed to have admitted it, and when she lifts her head briefly to catch that taken back look on Torren's face she looks away from him quickly as if struck. She doesn't drink to Alaeyna's statement, but perhaps she never heard her say it. Instead she wraps her arms around herself and becomes rather quiet and sullen.

Alaeyna is, for a spell, locked into that gaze with Maelys, and after he's had all his fill of the wine she takes a kiss from him. Oblivious, at first, to the looks exchanged between the other two, until the shift in the mood becomes perceptible. Though she smiles at Torren and assures him, "I'll forgive you if you offer me the same mercy," she leans in to Maelys's ear and murmurs something to him.

Maelys turns to regard the Torren with a silent question, his gaze passing from Torren to his niece, then back to Torren. "I have heard that in Dorne it is part of the game; the efforts to scandalize or malign one or another, like some specimen of courtship ritual." Maelys's gaze is weighty when, again, he looks up Visenya. "Killing a man is no small thing, dear niece. One Septon told me it is theft. You steal everything he is and everything he mght be. He was not a bad man, insofar as Septons are concerned."

Maelys and Alaeyna kiss, and perhaps it's the taste of the rich wine upon one or the other of their lips that makes the gesture appear, if not interminable, then very long. The Prince nods when Alaeyns whispers into his ear, then rises to his feet, lifting the Fury of Skyreach, to her feet with the aid of one hand. "Prince, Princess. There is an urgent matter my lady and I must needs attend to… armor, you see. Alaeyna believes my armor is too weighty and heavy for the harsh Dornish sun. Lady Alaeyna and I must inspect… armaments."

"Of course, my lady," Torren confirms with a smile to Alaeyna, though then he catches Maelys' eye, and there's an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Whether it's indicating that he doesn't know the answer, or that he isn't going to say at the moment, is anybody's guess. "Dragons are living things, and one has a right to protect one's own when necessary," is what he says instead, but it's said casually, and when Maeylys begins to excuse them, he says, "Of course. The climate here is quite different than the North." For all the world as though this excuse totalle makes sense. "My lady," he says, moving to give Alaeyna their customary farewell, "Thank you for joining us. Prince Maelys, a pleasure."

Alaeyna merely smiles at the excuse Maelys gives, crossing toward Torren to offer him a kiss to either cheek in farewell. "Be well, my prince," she says to him, offering Visenya just a polite nod before she slinks back to Maelys and takes his arm, letting him lead her from the chamber and to the important task at hand. Armaments.

"Goodnight, Uncle. Lady Fowler." Visenya says in a quiet tone as the pair rises to leave. No longer playing the game Visenya picks up the goblet, and swallows deeply from it before she wipes her mouth off of her wrist. She stands up from the table, and apparently there is a slope to the floor that she never noticed before because she pitches forward before grabbing the edge to the table to keep from falling over.

Torren starts to say something when Visenya picks up the cup, but he doesn't have time to before she's nearly falling onto the floor. He pushes up from the table as well, and gets around as quickly as he can so that he can get an arm around her to steady her. He's drunk, too, but nowhere near as drunk as her, and so he actually can assist her. "You should get to your chambers, my princes," he says.

"Perhaps you are right." Visenya says with a little bit of a slur. She puts a hand against Torren's chest, but it's hard to tell if it's to push him away or to gain balance off of him. "So it is the murder and not the letting your brother make love to me, is it?" She sways a bit in his arms, "You might as well find me defective along with everyone else."

"What?" It's the second time tonight that Torren has been shocked by something. And Torren does not shock easily. "What are you talking about?" He looks down at her, completely nonplussed. "What do I care if you have killed someone? I certainly do not find you defective. It was a surprise, that is all. I did not expect it. I did not mean for you to drink, when I asked that. I was trying to make Alaeyna and your uncle drink. I did not know."

"I know you did not know." Visenya says. But she's drunk, and drunks are difficult to deal with. "Lady Lara." She calls out to the woman in the pillows to wake up. Presumably to take her back to the guest tower. The other woman does not stir. She sighs, and says, "I should…I should go." She blinks hard.

"Visenya," Torren says, and he reaches for her face to tip it up toward him so that he can look at her. Who knows if she's in a state to look at him at the moment, but he attempts it. "Do not do this. Please. It means nothing. It changes nothing between us." He holds onto her tightly with his other arm, though now it's less about keeping her upright. "I hurt you…forgive me." He knows that blink, of course, and he's drunk enough that he can't mask the little flash of pain that crosses his face when he sees it, and knows that he's the cause of it.

Visenya is at that state where it is easy enough to move her, and when he reaches for her face to tip it up she sort of just goes along in a limp manner. Her eyes are slightly glassy, but after another slow blink she stares up at him. "I didn't want to do it." She says in a tired, sad voice. "And everyone around me says it was good, but it wasn't, and…" Her eyes squeeze shut, "Perhaps someday I will tell you more about it. But not tonight. And it's fine. You didn't know." She opens her eyes then before looking up at him, "Do you want Lara Gargalen?"

Torren's thumb brushes over her cheek, and when she says that she might one day tell him more, he shakes his head. "There is no reason to," he says, "unless you wish it. It is not my business, and you owe me no explanations." He leans down to kiss her forehead, though her next words make him pull back. He lets out a laugh, more incredulous than amused. "Not particularly," he says after a second. "Why do you ask me that? Because you have seen me look at her?"

Visenya stares up at him before she shakes her head. "No. But her intention is for you to want her." She runs a hand over her face, "I cannot dismiss her because then I would be seen as difficult, and everyone will be looking for a chance to disparage me. But if I could? I would." That said she looks towards the door, "Will you walk me to my room?"

"Of course it is," Torren replies, as though this should be obvious. "I would wager that almost any Dornish lady you should take as a companion, or lady-in-waiting, will have that same intention. You cannot dismiss them all, sweet." He follows her glance as well, and then nods at the request, "Of course." That said, he starts toward it, giving her as much help as she needs — and will take — from him.

"So my role is traditionally as head of your harem?" This doesn't exactly amuse Visenya, but there is a wryness in her voice as she mentions it. And also a bitterness. She leans against him slightly as they walk, and she does need some help walking as she is swaying in place a bit. "You said you have no intention of taking another lover, and I believe you. I just did not realize this was how it was done, and that my ladies saw the position as a way to your bed and favor."

There's a little laugh that escapes him at her first words, and he says, equally wryly, "My mother has two acknowledged bastards. Those are merely the ones she has so far acknowledged. I assure you that there are more." He holds her relatively steadily, and the walk seems to be sapping a little bit of his drunkenness.

As for how the ladies see their positions, well… "They do," he says, "or, it is likely that they do. It may be an exaggeration to say 'almost any.' Some will not, especially if they are young; they will likely worship you. But some will. But that does not mean that they will not be good companions to you, especially when they come to accept that I would rather have my wife in my bed than a paramour."

"What does your father think?" Visenya asks as they walk out into the cool night air. "Is he allowed to even have an opinion regarding it?" It boggles her mind. Women in the North do take lovers and have bastards, but they pass them off as their husband's children or they face great shame and sometimes worse. At his last words she turns her head to look up at him, "You could have half the women in the country."

Torren shrugs, and replies, "I am sure he has feelings on the matter. I admit I do not know what they are. He has never spoken of them to me. He may not mind. He enjoyed us when we were children, trueborn and not. And I think he has come to love my mother in his way, but their marriage was as ours will be." Not borne of love, obviously. That isn't something that is done in the high ranks, of course. That he loved his first wife, and his love was returned, was nothing more than a happy accident.

When she looks up at him, he turns to meet her gaze, and after a second, says, "Yes. I could." It isn't said with satisfaction, though. It's almost weary. "I have had quite a few. I am sure that is not surprising to you. When I was younger, it was a bit intoxicating. But it grows a little cold after a while, when one is only wanted for one's position, for what the other person can gain from it. I flatter myself that I am not hideous, and I know how to please a woman when we are in bed together. But I prefer there to be at least some sort of feeling toward me in whomever I bed. Barring that, at least if I am bedding my wife, I am not offending the Seven." Though this is obviously a joke.

"My father has numerous bastards, and our baseborn brothers and sisters served as our companions growing up, but never did my mother stray from him. And I don't think she even likes him." And then Visenya adds seriously, "And she is also his sister. It's one thing to make your wife dislike you, but your sister?" It's bizarre how she separates it, but there must be a mechanism in there somewhere to rationalize all of that inbreeding. "You don't think we will ever love one another?" She doesn't sound hurt. Just curious. "Well…if I had a choice in marrying you I would have refused you." She turns her head to look up at him, "And your position will do me more favors than Rhaegor's. But now it doesn't hurt as much after having known you a little bit. And rest assured that if I felt nothing for you then I would have never let you touch me, and we most certainly would not be having this conversation." She then adds sheepishly, "Nor would I be jealous of my lady-in-waiting."

It's probably a gene that's been bread into all Targaryens. Or something. Who knows. What Torren says, though, is, "We may. I am not yet ruling it out. I hope you may come to love me at least a little bit." He smiles, "It may not seem like it to you, but it is not an easy thing for me to imagine a life with someone whom I do not love. So, yes, I hope. But guard my own heart, for now." He looks down at her with the little teasing smile that she surely recognizes by now. It lightens his words.

They's come to the entrance of the chambers of the Targaryen envoy, and he stops, turning to face her. "I am glad you feel something," he says. "I enjoy it. I like the way you look at me, as though you think you should not but cannot help yourself." He reaches up to touch her face again, and this time it's more intimate than before. "You need not be jealous of her. I may look at her from time to time, but I shall not be leaving any dinner parties to tryst with her in the gardens."

"I think only time will tell." Visenya says of them one day loving each other. "And even if it doesn't happen? I am most certain that we will be friends. That's more than most have." She closes her eyes when he touches her face, and presses her cheek into his hand briefly before she leans forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. "I won't spare another thought on you and her, then." She reaches up to touch his cheek then before she says, "Goodnight, my Prince." And then she turns to walk, albeit a little wobbly, into the tower.

Torren might have wished the kiss to last longer, and to have turned into other things, but he lets it be what it is this time and when she takes her leave of him he doesn't try to keep her there. "Goodnight," he replies, and if it's with a little bit of reluctance, well, he's drunk, and only human. He does watch her go, though, his eyes on her until she disappears, and on where she was for a little while after, before he turns to return to his own bed.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License