(120-10-24) Family Reunion
Family Reunion
Summary: Igdahn welcomes her cousin Aeron in the Upriver district of Oldtown.
Date: 24/10/2013
Related: None
Players:
Aeron..Igdahn..Eonn..

Upriver

The northern course of the Honeywine is slender and slow, spanned by narrow bridges of stone and timber. The Citadel squats at the head of the river forebodingly, all stony and thick-walled. The buildings here are new and sparkling clean, unlike the aged, worn buildings of the city proper, and large, expensive manses shrouded in garden and shrubbery overlook the river, offering a beautiful view of the waterfront.

The concourse along the river is quite a lot wider and well-decorated than the river-road, with lush green trees, stone benches,and the river-boats here are quite finely crafted, with luxurious furnishings, bright new paint, and sound timbers. Looking south, one can see the blazing beacon of the Hightower looming over the city.

The shops here cater to those with rich tastes. Baubles, jewelry, silks, satins, finely wrought armor and armaments, and varies other shiny things meant to catch the eye of well-to-do city-dwells with stags or dragons burning holes in their purses.

CONTENTS: Igdahn(P)

EXITS:
Hightower Street <HS>
The Citadel <cit>
Downriver <DR>

Aeron

Tall with broad shoulders, Aeron's robust frame is frequently complemented with a roguish smile. His build is quite solid and muscular, alluding to a life of well-fed physical exertion. Silvery-blonde hair is close cropped in a soldier's fashion and its bright color contrasts with lightly tanned skin. Aeron's pleasant visage and violet eyes mark him as a member of the Targaryen family.

Aeron is dressed in leather armor that, though clearly well worn, is in an impeccable state of repair. Peaking out behind seams, joint and cuffs are light, airy black-dyed fabric that is possibly linen or silk. His calf-high boots are also dyed black, but are more well-worn than the rest of his attire and lend an impression of traveling boots. A hooded black cloak is secured to the collar of his armor by way of a pair of silver broaches fashioned in the coat-of-arms of the Targaryen family.

A broadsword is belted about his waist and hangs at his left side. On his right side is sheathed a dagger and a knife with an ornate handle stylized into a dragon. Small loops of cordage and thin leather strips hang attached off the back of his belt.

Igdahn

A pair of wide-set, doe-like eyes are a bright baby blue in color, set above delicate cheekbones and topped with pale blonde brows. Two chin-length curls of platinum blonde hair curl down the sides of her face, and the rest of her hair is tied up underneath a pale green velveteen hat which rises in two broad horns and is studded at regular intervals with silvery dots that give it a pillowed look.

With the twin peaks of her hat she barely scrapes five foot three— without the hat she's under the five foot mark by an inch or so. Her body is of narrow proportion, without much in the way of curvature, and her gown is cut with a high waist and a high neck, which do nothing to make her look less like a narrow pillar of a girl who hasn't started wearing a woman's clothing, yet, not designed to draw the male eye or encourage suitors with a preview of the flesh beneath. Yet the pale cream, ivory and green colors are immaculate, embroidered in silver thread, looking like they should dress a little princess poppet.

Scene Start

Aeron has just arrived at Oldtown and, although he should have headed straight to Hightower to meet with his cousin, he can't help but make a detour to check out what the city has to offer. He exits an armorsmith's store and rejoins the smallfolk tending to his packhorse. "Terrible, terrible," he says with an exaggerated sigh and shrug of the shoulders.

Word has come to the tower that Igdahn's cousin is arrived in town, and, after preparing herself to greet him on his arrival, and finding his arrival less than forthcoming, she advances in a procession from the tower, two guards at her fore and two behind her as she sits on her little pony, dressed up like a little princess doll, her face veiled against the gaze of strangers, though her identity is widely known in town, by now, the noblewoman so chaste that her visage has never been seen in public. Her entourage comes square up against Aeron's as he joins them before the armourer's.

"Store's wares not that great, m'lord?" the servant asks. "No. No, the lass behind the counter," Aeron replies. "You'd expect at those prices, they'd have better advertising." He cups his hands several inches in front his chest. His hands are still pantomiming a healthy bosom as he turns to see what all the hubbub is about. "Hey," he says to the closest guard. "Who's that?" he asks.

It's a lass on a pony. And one of the guards is unhooking a tiny embroidered stool that had been resting on the pony's round barrel, placing it just so the sidesaddled Igdahn can disembark and step down without having to lift her skirt beyond the point of showing the tips of her pointed shoes. "The Lady Igdannha Targaryen greets her cousin, the Lord Aeron Targaryen," the knight at the fore of the group announces, much beyond just telling Aeron— no, he's telling all those in the vicinity, who will no doubt tell their acquaintances, who will tell their acquaintances, who will tell their acquaintances of the momentous meeting of these two souls, the cad and the puritan, the latter of whom merely lowers herself into a childlike curtsey of feminine obedience in front of her cousin, allowing the guard to serve as her voice, at present.

Aeron stands there silent for a moment, slowly dropping his hands down to his sides. While courtly formality is not his modus operandi, he's not a dullard either and senses the eyes of many smallfolk, and possibly nobles, bearing down on him. He returns the curtsey with a bow, and offers his right hand towards Igdahn, "The lord of Targaryen greets his cousin, Lady Igannha Targaryen." The formal greeting is lightened with a wink, when he catches Igdahn's gaze.

Eonn comes from the southern course of the Honeywine River.
Eonn has arrived.

Igdahn does not have a gaze to catch, inasmuch as her vace is veiled, the material of her pale green veil translucent, but only at close quarters, such that she can see well enough for basic mobility out of it, but seeing her features is more or less impossible. She remains lowered in her curtsey until her issued greeting is returned. Then she stands straight, taking from her little pony's side bag a folded shoulder-strap, like that which might be used to clip to a longsword sheath or travel bag, one which has been finely emboidered by her own hand in flowers and scrolling tendrils. "My welcome, Gentle Cous, to you, on your arrival," she recites the words with a fresh youth and earnestness. "I hope that your time in Oldtown is of benefit to your spirit and valor." A pause. "I made this for you."

Receiving the gift with both hands he looks at it intently, running a thumb across the embroidery. Such a bit of finery is usually not something he's kept before. He flips it over, silently examining the craftsmanship. "It's quite lovely," he says genuinely and loops the strap around the dragon hilted knife hanging off his belt. "Thanks," he adds and regards Igdahn's posture and overall demeanor. "I'm sure you don't remember it, but the last time I saw you was nearly ten years ago. You've grown a bit since then." He squints a moment, almost painfully and adds, "Ah… into a regal woman befitting the family."

Eonn can be seen, some distance away. Not very noticable except he's on horseback and the great white plowhorse-destrier cross he rides is a fairly visible beast. It doesn't act like a war-horse, though. The big mare walks very peacably and slowly. Still, just another bit of city scenery.

Igdahn has grown, at that. Ten years ago she was likely in between bouts of being bedridden, perhaps able to sit up in one palace or another, looking like the face of death itself, drawn and wan as she watched the other children playing out the window. And if she's still on the small side, at least she's alive, and that's grown enough for most in her family. "I beg you pardon my not remembering, my Lord Cousin," she answers him. "And I thank you for your kind words. If you would care to accompany us, I will show you to the tower, where you may take your rest; I know I weary easily upon the road, though you, of course, may do less so."

"Of course," Aeron replies. "It was a very long time ago and we've both have changed so much since then." He takes out a dragon and flips it to his servant. "Why don't you take these fine men escorting my dear cousin out for a drink, as an appreciation of my thanks and that of House Targaryen. You can bring my things to tower later." Moving along side Igdahn, he asks, "I assume that is alright with you, my dear cousin?" Then adds in a hushed tone, "Unless you live in a gilded cage."

Igdahn bows her head in obedience to her Cousin's command. After all, it is her place to obey, even as it is his place to serve. "I will tell you where the tower lies," she accepts his proposal, stepping back up to her stool and sitting back upon her well-appointed sidesaddle. She doesn't seem apt to ride the creature herself, but the guard holding the pony's lead rope, when dismissed, hands the rope over to Aeron. "My only cage is duty to my family, and that one which I would choose over any freedom you could name me— though—" she adds, hesitantly, "I pray thee not try my supposition." She has no desire to hear what sot of freedoms he's been indulging in, after all.

Aeron takes the reigns in his left hand and turns south towards the direction of the harbor, gently pulling the horse in that direction. The stool left for the guards or his attendant to see to. He smiles to himself, but the mirth can be heard in his tone. "Be mindful of such a statement, Igdannha. You may come to regret those words in due time." He then looks up suddenly, over his right shoulder. "Oi! What's that? I'm not going to tell her. It'd be rude."

Scene End

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