(123-04-17) Tyrell-Merryweather Betrothal Party
Tyrell-Merryweather Betrothal Party
Summary: Two great houses of the Reach have a little something special to announce, not that Oldtown society hasn't seen it coming a mile away!
Date: 17/04/2016
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://gobmush.wikidot.com/logtitle)
Players:
Loryn..Miranda..Margot..Deirdre..Brynden..Ampere..Amaei..

The weather is warmer than one might like; a drizzle of rain occasionally falling down on the gardens of the Tyrell isle. Despite this, a troupe of minstrels plays delightful songs of love and romanticism with the occasional dance number between for the floor to be occupied. Broad canopies in blue and green edged in gold provide shade and shelter and keep the many tables of freshments safe. And refreshments there are - spilling out of golden cornucopias come a wide variety of summer fruits and pastries. Bottles of fragrant Arbor reds and golds and Beesbury meads add to the lush offerings. And all around - roses in every hue.

The ladies of Highgarden have come to see their errant boy properly settled, as have the many lords of Longtable -Lord Josaph and his sons and lady of the house only a few years older than Lady Miranda herself carrying a boy no more than two years. The Tyrells and Merryweathers look both particularly pleased by the occasion and both familes seem puffed with pride.

A Widow drifts through the throng. For all the demureness of hrer black garb, a sharp eye might notice her feet moving in rhythym with the music, and the curious angle of Lady Deirdre's veiled head as she watches through the lace.

Loryn Tyrell has dressed for the occasion. A lot of work has gone into the fine coat on which tiny golden blossoms have been stitched, glittering when catching a ray of sun. So it's just as well that it's raining half the time. The young Tyrell and his mother Josanne, who has arrived from Highgarden from the occasion, have been greeting noble guests by the entrance for some time and are now returning into the gardens proper. Loryn's eyes drift around, looking out for one young lady in particular of course.

Miranda is almost unrecongizable to those who were familiar with her in her role as a septa. The gentle face and jeweled holy star are still present, but the girl wears a gown of green silk woven through with golden threads, a blouse of violet silk to cover up to her neck, and an embroidered underskirt of summer fruits and flowers - much like the table decor. Elgeant as befits a lady of a fine noble house but demure as anyone would expect from a former septa candidate. She looks pleased and anxious as she steps into the gardens to join her family, but of course her smile breaks wide when she spies the man in glimmering gold.

Ampere glanced at the crowd warily as he stood somewhat awkwardly in a corner that seemed to contain the least amount of people. His years as a Sellsword had accustomed him to quite a variety of jobs, like escorting trade caravans, capturing wanted criminals, or tailing and spying on certain invididuals.
What he wasn't used to, however, was attending a seemingly nonthreatening garden party filled with highborn nobles in fancy attire that he would never in his life be able to afford adorning his own body with. Not that he particularly minded that, they looked terrible incovnenient and difficult to move around in.
He didn't know why the Tyrells would want to hire the extra muscle to keep watch over an event where nothing was likely to ever happen, but he supposed that the bigger a party was, the less the nobles trusted the overall competence of the City Watch. With great wealth and extravagance came great paranoia.
The grey-hooded Sellspear sighed a bit at the thought. That was one of the many priveleges exclusive to highborn folk, he had learned in his youth. The ability to be paranoid. For everyone else, taking extra precautions to prevent a horrible death was just an everyday routine.

Stepping in a bit slowly, and looking around at the crowd, Brynden whistles momentarily at the crowd present, but mostly goes back to carefully watching the crowd.

Deirdre lifts a tidbit up under her veil to nibble. Tyrells are way beyond her social sphere alas, but at least she can people watch. Her meandering takes her closer to the knight and the sellspear by happenstance.

All the oldest and greatest houses of the Reach are represented inevitably at House Tyrell's call by those of their members who happen to be in or near Oldtown — and House Rowan of Goldengrove by its own lady, Margot Hightower as she was and some might say she still is, a mourner at this feast, draped in black silk and the finest (and blackest) Myrish lace. Her priceless seven-pointed diamond star glitters at her bosom, a rich adornment though it be her only one. She is accompanied not by Lord Rowan, her public reunion with whom has given rise to a certain amount of gossip in the city in recent weeks, but by her closest relation and friend Lady Bryony Tyrell, a cousin of the groom's in another direction, who rather than compete directly with the bride-to-be or Lady Josanne herself has considerately come in pale violet silk embroidered with a garden of flowers not at all limited to Tyrell roses.

These ladies arrive in the gardens arm-in-arm, trailed by a grey-robed woman of about their own age who is the only septa to be seen here today; and they stick to each other, Lady Bryony giving as oft the impression of being a lady-in-waiting in attendance upon a dignified and reclusive princess she has managed to charm out of doors by dint of her own ebullient personality. They know people left, right, and centre, of course; the exchange of greetings in their different modes, Lady Rowan quietly sincere and Lady Bryony generally finding something to laugh about, until by chance or by design they come face to face with Lady Miranda Merryweather. The news hasn't been announced yet so Lady Bryony only beams at her with warm brown eyes threatening to tear up, and releases Lady Rowan's arm to clasp the younger lady's hands and declare: "You look so beautiful today! They really are your colours."

Lady Rowan, more discreetly, murmurs: "You look well, Lady Miranda."

Miranda blushes as she smiles at the pair of ladies, glancing down at her magnificent dress. "Thank you both. I -feel- well. Joyful. I am… blessed to be so fortunate." She glances over towards her family and the gentleman of the hour. "I'm glad you both could join us," she says, looking back to them with a grand smile. "It's so wonderful to have all the families here."

Loryn was about to approach his future wife, but then she got intercepted by two ladies and he changes direction. Which only means bumping into another woman draped in black. "Someone must have sent the wrong dress code out.", he murmurs to Deidre without having a clue who she even is, but then he's only passing on his way to somewhere else.

Deirdre curtsies. Her stormlander accent is significantly more refined than that of a certain knight well known around Oldtown, but the lilt is there all the same. her voice is light and musical, at odds with the severity of her mode of dress, "Forgive me, My Lord, but if one forbids widows the few social occations we can reasonably attend…."

Ampere stared at the approaching woman with a guarded expression, his mind attempting to work out why she was drawing closer to him rather than mingling with all the guests who had visibly higher affluence, due to the simple fact that they *weren't* wearing armor. Maybe it was due to their similar face-obscuring fashion-sense. Hearing the exchange between her and the young nobleman, the Sellspear shook his head lightly. "…Don't worry, I think some will find it to be a refreshing sight among all the…endless…flowers…" Ampere couldn't help but murmur quietly.

"It is, isn't it? I'm sure we all enjoy having something to celebrate," sighs Lady Bryony, giving Lady Miranda's hands another friendly squeeze before releasing her the better to latch on to her sister's arm again. "Oh, dear, am I being too indiscreet? … I'm afraid," she confides to Lady Miranda in a lower voice, eyes wide and twinkling, "we do all rather know."

Lady Rowan turns her head to look at Lady Bryony past the edge of her enveloping lace mantilla; she raises a dark eyebrow. Then her eyes meet Lady Miranda's once more, coolly opaque. "You must think I tell my sister everything," she murmurs; "the truth is that, more usually, she looks at me and guesses."

Loryn promptly looks sheepish. "I was… uh, joking, Mylady. My apologies.", he murmurs to Deirdre, "I am sorry to hear of your loss. Please do enjoy the festivities. There's drinks and food to be had…" He points towards the pavilions and in doing so, notices that his mother is trying to get his attention.

Josanne Tyrell has climbed onto the low dais erected for the musicians and claps her hands to get everyone's attention. "Dear friends and family!", the lady calls out at last, "Thank you all for coming from near and far to mark this joyous occasion. I know some of you have travelled great distances to be here in Oldtown…" There may be a hint of disapproval in her voice at the town's name, but she quickly carries on. "I also thank Lord Merryweather for making the journey with his family… and I believe he has an announcement to make." She grins at the man and gestures for him to join her on the dais for better visibility.

Miranda's face is momentarily puzzled by the ladies and is about to reply but then Lady Josanne calls for attention. She curtsies to excuse herself and heads over to join the other Merryweathers.

Lord Josaf Merryweather has the words of 'Behold our Bounty' to his seat in Longtable and it's apparent in his girth. A pleasant wide stomach and a broad face with mutton-chops to cover down the sides. He motions his daughter over to his side and waves the Tyrell boy over to get up there. "The Seven move in mysterious ways," he says in a booming joyful voice. "And it's often said they reward the faithful with treasures both in this life and in the seven heavens beyond. Family is one of those treasures and both my house and the house of Tyrell have been so blessed. But today… today my friends, we celebrate the blessing given to both our houses in our children and their children to come." He motions to a server and fluted goblets of wine are circulated to all, even the guardsmen standing watch and commoners permitted to partake of the feast in charity.

"It is with deepest honor, pride, and joy that I announce the betrothal contract between Miranda of House Merryweather and Loryn of House Tyrell. May the Seven smile on them and all of us benefit from their happy union to come."

Brynden raises an eyebrow as he listens to what's being said by the Tyrell lady, turning his attention to her, rather carefully. At the mention of an announcement, he looks around, grabbing some of that wine being circulated. And as he hears the announcement itself, he turns to see where Loryn is, while grimacing momentarily, taking a sip of the wine to mask that expression.

Up close the mantilla is not entirely opage, being a flimsy thing of lace. One might trace an amused smile on Deidre's lips. She adresses the armoured man, "Flowers grow in the Stormlands too, Ser…? In anycase, one wouldn't expect otherwise in a place called 'Garden Isle.'" The Lady Deidre being rather out of the gossip loop at present tries not to listen obviously to the interesting conversation between the former candidate for septa, the Lady in rather more resplendant mourning than her own, and the lady's sister. To be caught doing so would be rude. She turns what appear from what is visible to be rather large dark eyes on Ser Loryn. She sounds not put out in the least as a gloved hand lightly touches his arm, "It is all right. a man might not want a bird of ill omen on such a festive day." She releases him for another curtsey, "I'm Lady Deidre Trant. My cogratulations to you, Ser."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Deirdre", Loryn says politely. He might have more to say, but then he's waved to the dais by his future father-inlaw. He hurries to get there before the speech is over and stands beside Miranda, face flushing with joy when the actual words are spoken. Not sure how to react to the round of whooping and clapping that Lord Josaph's words receive, he decides to do the sensible thing. Which is, grabbing Miranda by the waist to pull her close for a big kiss.

Ampere listened to the announcement with only a passing interest, as he thought about how much he was being paid to stand here idly. 'Hopefully their happy union at least lasts long enough to benefit me for the next month or so.' He thought dryly to himself, before turning to the black-garbed woman that had responded to his off-handed comment.

"Mm. The 'Ser' is unnescessary, my lady. I'm not a knight." He murmured softly as he watched the groom-to-be walk off. "…And I suppose flowers are quite commonplace, especially where the Tyrells are concerned. But there's 'Growing Strong', and then 'Growing Excessive'." Honestly, he had to wonder how much it had cost to fill the place with so many.

The toast to the young couple is drunk with regal sincerity by Lady Rowan and glowing delight by Lady Bryony — and then, the former's wine hardly touched and the latter's almost gone, they effect a graceful switch of their cups, low down, where surely nobody will notice… Lady Rowan's own family fortunes being what they are she is consciously serene in this company and never permits her small smile to waver longer than it takes her to speak a few words. No unkind observer shall be given cause to suppose her less than genuine in her pleasure at being present, or in the praise of the bride and the groom, their looks and their promise, which is on her lips as much as those around her.

Miranda's clearly expected the announcement but not the kiss. She widens her blue eyes and almost squeals when her future-husband pulls her into a happy embrace. She seems at a loss for a moment but relaxes into it with her arms around his neck.

Behind them, both families break into bemused applause; even the baby attempting to clap when he sees his big brothers doing it.

Deirdre catches up a goblet at drinks the toast the veil lifting just enough to admit the drink. "A love match, I suppose?"

Josanne Tyrell clears her throat audibly and then -very- audibly until Loryn lets go of his fiancee with a big grin. "Sorry.", he murmurs towards both Miranda and his Mum though with no real conviction. Someone hands him a cup of wine so he can join in the toast with everyone. "Care to dance?", he then turns back to Miranda with a smile, "I believe we should dance." Let his mother deal with all the questions about the wedding date, location and other boring stuff.

Brynden drains the rest of the goblet, before he joins in the applause, a bit slower than many of the others. Shaking his head a little bit as he glances to the crowds. "Well, hopefully they will be happier…" he mutters, mostly to himself.

It must be a love match based on the way the pair look at one another. Soft smiles, gentle eyes, close proximity - as close as propriety will allow in public with ones entire families right behind. But the Merryweathers are lords of the Eastern Reach and certainly a family wealthy enough to suit a dowery worthy of the Great House.

Miranda blushes as she nods to him. "Oh a dance, yes, that'd be lovely." The guests and their toasts are met with a shy but happy wave of thanks.

Deirdre turns her head towards Ser Brynden, "Happier than who?"

Ampere nodded towards the woman, toasting the affectionate kiss the recent match shared by simply holding up his waterskin and slipping it under his mask for a quick sip. He wasn't about to reveal his stoney and cracked skin to a crowd of nobles. "It is rare that such betrothals carry genuine love with it, I suppose." He commented quietly. It was about as much optimism as the Sellspear could muster without eventually sounding cynical. A bad habit of his.

The minstrels have been well-primed and on Loryn's nod begin to play a jaunty tune that clearly belongs to his favorites and where he can't mess up too badly. He takes Miranda's hands and leads her into the dance happily, buoyed by the whole happy atmosphere. Soon enough a few other couples join them and when the dais begins to be rather crowded, others begin dancing in front of it.

"Hmmm?" Brynden offers to Deirdre, with a brief shrug. "Oh, I was just thinking out loud, my lady. Not every marriage turns out to be happy, even if they may seem so for a while." Offering her a momentary smile, he adds, "But most people are probably aware of that, yes?"

Miranda is light on her feet and has eyes only for her Tyrell fiance. She still has her septa-like calm about her but it's more joyful than serene at the moment. She hums along with the tune as they move about the dance-floor. "Well it's out! Now we have to plan the next part," she says with a glance to their parents. "And the when, and whats, and where - well, we did decide here? Your mum doesn't look too happy about that though."

Of course Lady Rowan of Goldengrove, wife of the Marshal of the Northmarch and one of House Tyrell's most powerful vassals, herself a famously frequent resident of Highgarden, is among the first to offer congratulations to the mother of the groom and the father of the bride — exquisite, polished, flowing phrases, offering the subtlest of nods to that Merryweather dowry in between complimenting the obvious happiness of those two young people well-suited by temperament and birth — and the Lord Marshal's good wishes, and his regret that a severe headache prevented his attendance at their charming party… Shifting thus into formality, she is the one with the most to say, and Lady Bryony only echoes her; they remain inseparable, and with duty done retreat from the dais, drawn by a certain discreet, mutually-agreed-upon curiosity regarding the only other woman who has come in unrelieved black.

"My lady, will you forgive us for interrupting your talk?" asks Lady Bryony of Lady Deirdre, smiling. "We weren't sure from a distance whether we knew you," her free hand, somewhat ring-bedecked, makes a fluttery gesture toward the lady's veil, "and we began to worry that perhaps we did and you'd think we were slighting you! And that would never have done, would it? … I'm Bryony Tyrell," she explains, "and this is my sister, Lady Rowan."

Her slightly older, slightly taller cousin, named her sister, inclines her own lace-draped head to Lady Deirdre. "How do you do?" she inquires softly.

"Ah, leave that talk to the grown ups.", Loryn says a little dismissively to his bride, too happy now to start thinking of planning stuff. He swirls her around again to keep dancing for now, enjoying the moment. Somewher else, a young couple has been a little -too- enthusiastic and one twirl brings them splashing into the pool.

Deirdre looks up at the hightower knight, what is visible of her smile rather sad, "That is very much true, I think." Then she is turning to Lady Byrony and Lady Rowan, offering her hand and a courtsey, "I'm Lady Deirdre Trant, but newly arrived. Oh! But I am sorry for your loss!" Whoever it be.

A gaggle of girls in their twenties decend upon the bride-to-be when the music ends, all congratulating her excitedly. They snigger at the couple who have dcided to 'swim' and beg her for a tour of the beautiful gardens. Loryn is also congratulated but it looks like the girls, cousins perhaps, are dragging the bride away. She blows Loryn a kiss with a shy smile and is hauled off by her kinswomen.

Ampere continued to watch stoicly as the fancifully dressed figures spun each other around the dais, all with mirthful expressions on their faces as they took part in an activity that he never had, nor would he ever if he had any say about it. He supposed from a certain perspective that the steps in dancing were similar to a fighter's footwork in battle, so perhaps the Sellspear wouldn't be completely terrible at the activity if he tried. Still, it was something he'd prefer not to chance, and though he was *quite* light on his feet…he was also a little too used to ending his movements with a spear thrust to someone's throat.

Brynden nods a little as he hears Deirdre's words, offering her a half-smile, before the Hightower knight goes silent again at the newly arrived ladies.

"And I yours," murmurs Lady Rowan to Lady Deirdre, retaining the stormlady's hand in her own delicate cool fingers for a long moment. "The tale of your husband's and your goodbrother's heroism came to us in Oldtown I think even before you did, my lady. Such great men cast long shadows… but I hope you have found some diversion, some solace, within our walls." She speaks, unconsciously, as a Hightower, even as Lady Bryony is bestowing a cheerful smile upon their cousin Ser Brynden — though hanging back, because it's Margot's turn.

Once Miranda is led off by her cousins, Loryn stands around like a lost puppy for a moment, then goes to find some Tyrell cousins from Highgarden to catch up with them after a longer time apart.

Deirdre starts slightly, "you have heard of my husband and his brother? I had not realised word of their deeds had travelled so far. You are very kind to say…. I admit, I am still trying to find my feet socially. I've never been out of the stormlands before"

Brynden offers a brief momentary smile to Margot and Bryony, along with a quiet nod, but otherwise, he keeps quiet as he listens to what's being said now. Also looking around to see if there's someone with more of the wine there.

Lady Rowan's slight smile manages to convey a sort of apology for being so ill-bred as to know anything unexpectedly. "Till lately my sister and I were among our kin at the Hightower," she explains quietly to Lady Deirdre, "and there, of course, we heard the talk of visiting nobles from every kingdom… And you, my lady? I must admit," again her words seem a very gentle apology, this time for a lack of knowledge, "I had not heard of House Trant keeping a manse in Oldtown. Have you kin of your own in the city?"

Deirdre gazes towards Ser Brynden and seeing no dancing apt to be forthcoming puts the whole of her attention on the Lady Rowan. Her smile is rather shy, "I fear I do not. My people are House Rogers out of Amberleigh. I just… wanted a change of scene and perhaps to see more of the world. My Good sister visits on occation, but has returned to Dorne."

Listening in quiet, Brynden offers all of the ladies a bit of a smile. He doesn't say something yet, but doesn't quite excuse himself either. But all in all looking a bit thoughtful.

"Dorne!" exclaims Lady Bryony softly, saying what Lady Rowan is thinking. She looks curious and a little impressed, as well as (tilting her goblet) thirsty.

Lady Rowan keeps her surprise at all of this to herself. A lady is never ruffled. She nods; she murmurs, "I see… I hope you will do me, and my lord husband, the honour of calling upon us one afternoon. We live at the Rowan Door Manse in Beacon Boulevard; a small house, but pretty, I think." The deepening of her smile invites Lady Deirdre to enter into the natural feelings of the lady of such a house. "We live very quietly at present, and without my sister's company," she nods to Lady Bryony, "we should have scant amusement to offer a guest; but perhaps you," again a small nod, again a discreet taking of the other into her confidence, "will forgive us our mourning."

Deirdre takes Lady Rowan's hand and says with great warmth, "I would like that very much! I have taken Wisteria Manse up on Champion's Way. We have the sweetest little garden that came with it." She casts a Look at Ampere and his disgust for Flowers. "I shall come visit you soon! It is good to have company at such times. May I ask…?"

"… And, cousin," adds Lady Rowan to Ser Brynden pleasantly, "I trust you'll bring your lady to visit us, too, before much longer; I am not receiving a great deal, but now I've the house in order family is always welcome." Then she finds her hand in Lady Deirdre's again; her own reserve remains proof against her new acquaintance's warmth, but her interest is genuine (and underpinned by a gentle pressure of her fingertips) as she inquires, "You are fond of gardening..? My only regret in departing from the Hightower is its marvelous flowers… I'm doing what I can with our own garden, of course, but it was allowed to fall into an unfortunate state; and no matter how sincerely I might wish or pray, plants grow only in their own time. A lesson to us, perhaps, to be patient, and wait for life's beauties to blossom." She smiles tranquilly.

Lady Bryony, whose unenviable task this is, explains to Lady Deirdre in a low murmur Lady Rowan affects to ignore: "My sister's son, Lord Gareth Rowan, was lost in a hunting accident in the first month of this year."

The mention of Dorne makes Brynden's expression turn a bit more distant, as he lets out a breath. Shaking his head a bit as he looks over towards the ladies once more. "It would seem new friendships can be forged," he offers, a bit lightly. The words to him makes him pause a little, letting out a bit of a breath, before he offers a brief smile. "I will see if she is feeling up for being out and about, cousin."

Deirdre nods, "Lucky the house had not been empty for long and while certain things had become a touch overgrown, all was soon put to rights. I do love a garden, and there seem to be some lovely places to ride near the city. How lucky you are to have grown up admidst such beauty. Oh, I do wish I could see the famous tower gardens." She takes in the news with a small sound of distress and is mommentarily at a loss for words, thinking of her own children back east. To Ser Brynden's remark about Dorne she brightens again, "Oh yes, she and I are good friends. I was supposed to be sent to Dorne myself as a girl, but there was an accident before I could embark and so married into Trant instead. I suppose then we should have missed each other's friendship, and who knows what I would be doing now."

The bereaved mother and aunt are united in the belief that the sooner that disagreeable subject is passed over, the better. Lady Bryony succeeds in waving down a passing servant and exchanging her empty goblet for a reassuringly full one; meanwhile, Lady Rowan's composure never flickers. "Indeed," she murmurs, "several young ladies of the Reach I knew when I was growing up were wed into Dorne, and I believe they found their way stony indeed… How fortunate for your goodsister that, at Gallowsgrey, she had your friendship."

"Perhaps we might arrange to show Lady Deirdre over the tower gardens?" Lady Bryony asks of Lady Rowan. "It would be such a shame for her to miss them just because we don't live there anymore, don't you think?"

Lady Rowan greets this proposal with a judicious nod. "Certainly," she agrees in the same low murmur, which keeps their conversation private amongst their little circle as the gathering ebbs and flows about them, much eased by wine; "we might discuss such an excursion when you visit us Lady Deirdre…?" She raises an eyebrow in question. "One can hardly hear oneself think, here."

Deirdre nods, "She was a bit older and very kind to me. It was good having a friend in a strange place." She is herself rather uncomfortable with condolences and is happy enough to move back to the subject of gardens, "Oh! I should like that very much, lady Byrony! The gardens are famous!" She nods, "It is true. Music is so pleasant when one is dancing, but not so much when one is trying to talk."

Brynden smiles, "The tower gardens are quite beautiful." There's a brief glance around as he speaks, before he pauses. "For those that enjoy it, this music is good for dancing, yes…"

Lady Bryony's brown eyes have wandered off again in the direction of the musicians, and the swirling skirts of the ladies lucky enough to have found partners; "Go on," Lady Rowan murmurs to her in an undertone, releasing her arm. "I'm sure Lady Deirdre would keep me company for a little while…?" She looks to the latter, taking for granted that mourning precludes dancing.

Deirdre says, "Oh of course! I'd be happy to, if Lady Bryony wishes to dance."

Brynden goes silent at the talk about dancing now, simply looking towards the dancers. He lets out a quiet breath as he does, expression a bit distant now.

Honourably released, Lady Bryony is all effusive thanks and rustling violet silk; she presses Lady Deirdre's hand in passing, and glances back twice just to make sure Lady Rowan really is quite all right, before finding some acquaintance or another fit at least temporarily to partner her.

Lady Rowan's posture only becomes more dignified when she clasps her hands before her narrow, corseted waist. Her gaze follows her sister for a long moment, expecting her to look back and nodding her encouragement when she does, and then flickers again to Lady Deirdre's face. "Shall we sit?" she asks softly. And then she addresses herself for the first time to the guard who has been so taciturn in watching over their small talk, of whom she has affected to be perfectly unaware, as one is of staff until they are required. "Perhaps, goodman, you know the grounds better than we do…? Do you know of a quiet place where we might sit and talk, away from the music…?"

Deirdre is reluctant to let anyone feel left out and addresses ser Brynden, "The dancing is not to your taste?" She presses Lady Byrony's hand reassuringly and gives her an encouraging smile. At Lady Rowan's suggestion, she nods, with one last glance towards the dancers, and comes along willingly enough."

Ampere gave his surroundings a cursory glance as he listened to the noblewoman's request. Honestly, he probably knew the area no better than she did, but he did have a knack for adapting to his surroundings quickly. It was a talent you developed quickly when people were perpetually trying to murder you. "I'll see what I can find." He murmured softly as he unfolded his arms and motioned for them to follow him, before setting off, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease, swiftly weaving through nobles almost unnoticed despite his armor and long polearm. Finally spotting a terrace that had yet to be occupied, and was obscured by enough bushes and structures to block out the music effectively, the Sellspear waved towards the noblewomen, beckoning them over. "I believe this spot will suit your liking." He offered with a firm nod.

There's a pause as Brynden lets out a bit of a breath at Deirdre's question. "I… it just reminds me of better times, really." A brief pause, before he smiles momentarily. "I'm sorry…" he offers to the others.

"If you don't care for the dancing, Ser Brynden," murmurs Lady Rowan mildly to her cousin, "and if you won't find such company as ours too dreary," two ladies in full mourning, "please, sit with us if you wish…?" Long white hands unclasp; by a gracious gesture she suggests that Lady Deirdre, her senior by a handful of years though her junior in worldly consequence, should precede her. What tips the balance is who is a guest in whose city. No Hightower lady can resist doing the honours of a hostess in their beloved Oldtown.

For Ampere as her little coterie comes to join him she has a smile of reserved gratitude. "My thanks, goodman, for finding us a measure of privacy and for guarding it. House Tyrell is fortunate in your service."

Deirdre's eyes go wide, "Oh! I'm sorry, Ser! I do seem to keep stepping it it today…." She follows the guide willingly enough. "Do keep us company."

"It is nothing you need to apologize for, my lady," Brynden replies to Deirdre, offering her a momentary smile, before he nods a little at Margot's words. "Of course, my lady. And I do not find your company too dreary, I assure you."

Ampere would silently stand guard over the terrace that the nobles had retreated to, reassuming his idle stance of arms folded over his chest. The ones who hired him had instructed for the Sellspear to assist any guests that asked for it, so he supposed blocking off access to the terrace for anyone other than those that were strictly wanted in the noblewomen's company was an appropriate enough way of fulfilling those duties.

The rain is drizzling down again; even as Ampere shields the black-gowned ladies from impertinence by land, a colourful canopy performs a similar office above. The lady of Goldengrove sits first, very upright, gesturing for Lady Deirdre to occupy the other half of her chosen bench. Ser Brynden might perhaps dispose himself opposite. The music does indeed seem softer here.

"I must tell you, my lady," murmurs Lady Rowan to her new friend, "I think you courageous to set off for a new city on your own, as you have done. I have lived always it seems to me between the same few places, with kin of one kind or another… I have been fortunate of course in my kin."

Deirdre brightens at Brynden's smile. All is not ruined, it seems. She is very biddable as to seating arrangements. "I… did dream of adventure when I was young. I suppose marriage didn't dull my taste for it. It would have been… rather better if the Lady Ynys had not gone home, but I do love the city. It is so colourful and the Sea is beautiful here!" She nods, "It was much the same for me. Except for my trip to Port when I was young, I've really only known the area around amberleigh and Gallowsgrave. The Reach always sounded so exciting!"

Brynden moves to the seat on the other side of the bench, with a quiet smile to the two ladies. There's also a brief smile offered to Ampere, before he looks back to the ladies. "I'm glad you like our city, Lady Deirdre," he offers. "And adventure is probably something everyone dream of when they are young."

'If only.' Ampere thought somberly as he overheard the knight's words. He would have stayed on the farm of his adopted family for the duration of his entire life if he could have. Even though they had forsaken him in the end, he honestly couldn't bring himself to blame them. They had been kind enough to overlook the illegitimacy of his birth. Greyscale, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely.

Lady Rowan has perched herself at a slight angle, facing at the same time in towards Lady Deirdre and out towards Ser Brynden. She affects not to notice the fluctuations in her cousin's mood so as not to embarrass him: in her world it's not considered quite decent to make a parade of one's feelings before others, and if ever she failed to conceal hers she'd hope to find all eyes discreetly averted just so… "Lady Bryony and I grew up at the Hightower of course," she murmurs, "and in King's Landing, where we spent several years with our cousin," otherwise known as Queen Alicent. "Since then I've lived chiefly at Goldengrove and Highgarden, though I've had the pleasure of returning to Oldtown often to visit." The Reach's three greatest domains, and the capital itself — adventures beyond the reach of almost any lady but a Hightower. "I'm delighted to hear that our city has found a place in your heart as well," she adds softly. "… Lady Ynys; is that the name of your goodsister?"

Deirdre,not knowing Ampere's story sill says, "I am sorry," on the off chance she has offended. To Ser Brynden she asks, "have you had many adventures yourself?" To Lady Rowan she gushes, "Oh! Is Highgarden as lovely as they say? And what is Goldengrove like? Places here have such lovely names, Rose Road, Beesbury…. Yes, my Goodsister is named Ynys. She's the dowager now, I suppose, which makes me feel rather old to think on…"

"Well, I spent some years squiring in Darkdell, with House Vyrwel, so there were a few adventures happening there," Brynden replies at Deirdre's question, offering her a bit of a quiet smile. "But all in all, those were the big adventrous days. Aside from the one time some friends of mine, including the brother of Ser Loryn, were accused of having strayed over the Dornish border and raiding a tower there. We had to fight in a trial by combat to clear their names." There's a brief smile as he listens to Margot's words.

The small social smile which has hardly left Lady Rowan's pale pink lips, deepens again as in her mind's eye she contemplates the remembered glories of Highgarden. "Of course I think of Oldtown as my home," she murmurs, "and for that reason I love it the best — and yet I can't hesitate to tell you that Highgarden is the most beautiful place I have seen… perhaps the most beautiful in the world. If it is the destiny of every lady to leave her home," she gives an elegant shrug, "the most blessed of us are those such as Lady Miranda, and my sister, who marry into House Tyrell."

Deirdre's eyes go wide, "Oh! and here I am talking of my Dornish Goodsister. Was anyone hurt, Ser?" Leans closer as Margot speaks of the wonders of the Highgarden. "Oh she is lucky! Do you know her at all?"

"Highgarden?" asks a voice. "I… Lady Rowan! A sight for sore eyes." The voice is of Amaei Tyrell, one of the daughters of the Lord Tyrell. She seems to have freed herself from the requirements of meeting and greeting simply everyone. There's barely even been time for a cup of Arbor Gold, which she seems to have fund now, though. Here she has stumbled upon a knot of people. "My lord of Hightower." she says, dropping a bit of a curtsey for Brynden. A smile for the others.

Ampere eyed the arrival of the girl curiously, before turning to the group behind him and tilting his head slightly to the side. A wordless question as to whether or not access should be granted.

In mourning her son Lady Rowan may have set aside the wardrobe of white dresses for which she is well-known in the Reach, but she wears still a white floral fragrance, warm and summery, which envelops Lady Deirdre as the two ladies lean confidentially nearer one another in conversation. "I do," she confirms, nodding; "before she set aside her septa's robes, Lady Miranda was good enough to assist me in a small charitable project…" Before she can elaborate footsteps sound in an approach to their little terrace; she glances up from beneath the draped folds of her mantilla of black Myrish lace, and answers Ampere's questioning look with a small, regal, approving nod. Yes, he was right to inquire of her. But yes, the lady is welcome.

"Lady Amaei; I didn't know you'd come to Oldtown," she calls softly. "Do sit with us if you wish. May I make you known to Lady Deirdre Trant, who has come from the Stormlands to admire the partake of the pleasures of the Reach—?"

The grey-hooded Sellspear returned the noblelady's nod with one of his own, moving deftly to the side for the dark-haired girl to come through.

Deirdre rises and drops a curtsey to the newcomer, "I'm Lady Deirdre Trant…. Lady Rowan, I must leave you in the care of your friends, but I do hope to call on you soon." Another curtsey, "Ser Brynden." And then she is gone in a swirl of black lace.

"One of the Dornish lost his life, unfortunately," Brynden replies, before he goes quiet again as he hears the other voice. It takes him a few brief seconds before he looks up, offering a polite smile and a nod. "Lady Amaei. It's a pleasure to meet you again. I hope you have settled in well so far." A brief pause as he offers a nod and a smile to Deirdre as she leaves. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Deirdre," he greets her.

"My lady." That for the retreating Deirdre. "My. I hope I have not said the wrong thing." A shake of her head and she has her smile on again for Lady Rowan and her friends. A nod for Ampere, too. "Dutiful. A rarity in these days, yes?" A look back to Margot. "My condolences." and she makes a small motion as if to indicate the mourning dress. "Thank you for gracing the party with your presence, even in your sad time." All that is terrible sincere.

Ampere's eyes narrowed slightly at Amaei's comment before he turned and glanced away. "Loyalty is usually the most reliable when you pay for it." He responded quietly, as if feeling the need to drive home the fact that he was only hired help.

"A pleasure, my lady; and I shall hold you to your word," Lady Rowan informs Lady Deirdre, clasping her hand once more before it's too late. "I am almost always at home in the afternoons…" she suggests gently. She doesn't rise.

Then, of course, the place beside her is empty; and she acquiesces to the changing of the guard, turning over her hand to indicate to Lady Amaei that she is welcome to sit. "My thanks." Her expression doesn't so much as flicker as her attention is drawn back, again, inevitably, to her loss. "I hope in such company as we enjoy this afternoon, attention to duty is the rule rather than the exception," she murmurs, with which remark and an inclination of her head she includes Ampere as well — for he too has his place in the social order it is in all their interests (paid or otherwise) to uphold.

She turns again to Lady Amaei with courteous curiosity. "Have you been long in the city?" she asks the younger woman. "How do you find Lady Miranda? She will make a virtuous and charming addition to House Tyrell, I should say — though I understand she and Ser Loryn will prefer to go on residing in Oldtown…"

"There are times when a lord and his lady must be apart, as sad as that is for both." Amaei says sagely. "After all, a lord that sees his lady as clever may well want her to see to their affairs in an important place - no ruling lord can be everywhere he needs to be." She does sit, taking the opportunity to have a sip from her cup. "No doubt lady Miranda and my cousin will come to Highgarden to visit. As for myself, I have only just arrived, so in my secret heart I take this as a welcoming party." she finishes with a laugh.

The sellspear paid careful attention to Lady Rowan's words. "Of course, my lady." He said softly, giving her an affirming nod. While he was more than certain that the noblewoman commanded enough affluence to ruin his life at the wave of a hand, he already had enough incentive to be vigilant in his duties due to the risk to his reputation alone. After all, a sellsword that couldn't fulfill his contracts properly usually stopped being able to find employers to sell to. And then he was killed, more often than not.

Brynden chuckles, "Well, no matter what, a party when you arrive is a good thing, isn't it?" A brief pause, as he listens to what's said. "Well, Ser Loryn has some things he tends to here, after all." A smile is offered, before he adds, "I hope they will have much happiness. After all, he used to be my squire, at least for the last while before he got knighted."

Hearing a maiden of seventeen speak with knowing certainty of matrimonial matters, Lady Rowan — who, as Lady Margot, seemed perfectly happy apart from her husband for eight long flower-decked years at Highgarden — retains of course the impeccable composure of her social mask, inclines her head in a small nod which suggests that Lady Amaei's views hold value, and murmurs a polite, low, "Indeed… Though you remind me, Ser Brynden," and she glances then to the Hightower knight, "that whilst I had the pleasure of speaking with Lady Miranda for a little while when I arrived, I have not yet given my congratulations to our cousin. You'll pardon me, I hope…?" In rising with a rustle of black silk she nods to him, then to Lady Amaei. "Your arrival has brought us all a second reason to be of good cheer, to be sure."

"I do like to think so." Amaei agrees in response to Brynden. "No doubt the gods will smile upon them and bless with their future family together and Oldtown too as bethroal gifts." she says, even if that's possibly a little sacreligious. "I only mean that it is not unseemly for a husband and wife to be apart, especially if the lady is at the seat of who her lord serves as bannerman." she says smoothly to the lady Rowan. She smiles again as Margot takes her leave. "Good evening, Lady. It was a pleasure to see you as always."

Ampere gave Lady Rowan a final nod as she departed. "…If you ever need a guard that is both silent and discreet, and you have the coin, ask around for a 'Greystorm'. If you want one that never shuts up, I know a few of those, too." He offered as he stepped to the side to allow the noblewoman her leave.

Brynden smiles, nodding as he hears Margot's words. "Of course. It was good to see you again, my lady," he offers to her, before he offers Ampere a grin at his words. "I'm sure we all will remember that," he comments to the man, before he looks back to Amaei. "I hope you have been settling in well so far?"

"I hope you'll do me, and my lord husband, the honour of calling upon us at the Rowan Door Manse," adds Lady Rowan to Lady Amaei in farewell; "it is such a pleasure to me to return however I may the bountiful hospitality of House Tyrell." Holding tight to her own tact, at any rate, she bestows a courteous inclination of her head upon the young lady from Highgarden, and follows it with a cool, firm smile, which she turns then to Ser Brynden. "Do please give my regards to your lady, and bring her to visit us whenever she feels able." And, having issued these invitations, she nods her thanks in passing to the guard who has been watching over their privacy, and departs from the terrace in her usual serene, gliding steps, as though drawn onward by the music.

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