(120-11-26) The Bear and the Dragon
The Bear and the Dragon
Summary: Aeron and Maera have a chance meeting on the street that leads to a mug of cider.
Date: 26/11/2013
Related: None

Hightower and Citadel Streets

Here Hightower Street's course curves from its upper East-West run to follow the river.

The northern course of the Honeywine is slender and deep. The banks of the river have been improved in a number of places, walling it in to keep it narrow enough to be easily spanned by narrow bridges of stone and timber. Small streams spill into it here and there, some from the surface and some from tunnels running under the streets.

Another cobblestone road leads North to where the Citadel squats alongside the river forebodingly, all stony and thick-walled. Perhaps a quarter mile downriver from the towering green sphinxes that guard the Citadel's gates is the old Quill and Tankard, that famous inn that has never closed in six hundred years. It stands on a little island not far out into the Honeywine, accessible by a small foodbridge. Most the buildings further South of the inn are far newer, and sparkling clean. Large, expensive manses shrouded in gardens and shrubbery overlook the river.

Hightower Street is wide, clean, and lined on either side with apple trees and stone benches. The river-boats that travel this area 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.


Quill And Tankard <QT>
Upper Hightower Street <HS>
The Citadel <cit>
Downriver <DR>

The sun is setting with brilliant crimson hues making the Honeywine look like a river of molten iron. It's a crisp early evening and Aeron makes his way north along the street with his cloak wrapped around him. The crowds of people have died down as many smallfolk and nobles alike are retiring for their supper. "Yes, yes, I am indeed going back there again," he says aloud as he makes his way towards the Quill and Tankard. "What's the problem with that?"

"Do you have any idea how much money one golden dragon is? It's enough to feed a whole village of smallfolk for a month!" Maera's voice can be heard as she exits a shop with a maiden in tow. "But…but…they've nothing like that on the Island!" The girl stammars out with a pout. Maera shakes her head. "No. For the last time, no. You don't /need/ myrish lace." The woman and girl exchange a few more words before the girl lets out a sigh, and stalks off towards Hightower street, one of Maera's men-at-arms following behind her. Younger sister cared for, the Lady Mormont takes a few steps towards the Quill and Tankard.

"Well, of course I'd rather be doing something better with my time," Aeron says and flings his arms up in exasperation, "but since I have to watch our dear cousin, my range is pretty limited." His path takes him near Maera, but he doesn't notice the noble right away. "We could always go back to the brothels, but I'm more in the mood to hunt my dinner than buying it." He starts to pass the Lady Mormont and says, "Oh, buzz off, will you!"

Maera stops abruptly and gives the Targeryen a look. She asks in her flat voice, "…Excuse me?"

"Huh?" Aeron says, clearly not expecting to be addressed. "What? No, I'm not talking to you," he says. He's not looking at Maera, but it only takes a moment before his brain catches up to his ears when he recognizes the voice. He stops suddenly, regards Maera with a look of confusion, then sighs as he looks skyward. "Sorry," the addled Targaryen says genuinely. He then rubs the back of his head and offers a sheepish wave of his hand. "Hi."

Maera's eyes sweep over Aeron before her brow cocks slightly. "Hello." There's a diplomatic pause before she says, "Whoever you were talking to must have gotten lost in the crowd before I saw them." She does her best impression of a comforting smile, but the expression looks more pained than comforting.

Aeron shakes his head and gestures skyward, "Balerion's just getting on my nerves today. He always flies off after stirring up the pot." He clears his throat and composes himself. It's a forced act, but he does his best to put on the airs expected of him. "Good evening," he offers with a polite bow. His eyes flit over to the man-at-arms and asks, "Enjoying a stroll?"

"You mean Balerion as in the Dragon?" Maera binks once, shakes her head, and drops the subject. "Shopping for gowns with my younger sister. Seems she's decided to take on the southern style." Her nose wrinkles in distaste. "Frankly, I don't see the point."

"Not /the/ Balerion," Aeron answers with a smile and shake of the head. He looks around, and then behind him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the younger sister. "Well, not every girl enjoys a sword." He stifles a chuckle, but cannot hold back a grin. "Besides, the southern style is not so bad. it could be worse, right? She might want to dress in the Dornish style."

"A lot of girls don't enjoy a lot of things." Maera says with a faint little snort, "But we all manage to suck it up and do what needs to be done." She flicks one of her braids over her shoulder before shaking her head, "At least the Dorish style has some utility to it."

"I'm thinking we might have a different ideas about Dornish styles," Aeron says with a sly grin. "You know, I've heard there's a Dornish princess here that

"I'm thinking we might have a different ideas about Dornish styles," Aeron says with a sly grin. "You know, I've heard there's a Dornish princess here that causes quite a scandal when she goes out in public. A shame I wasn't here when the king was. I would have loved to have seen my cousin's face." He looks around again and asks, "So you're done shopping then? Headed back home?"

"You've not seen her?" Maera asks in a dry, incredulous tone, "Really, I'm suprised. I thought scantly clad Princesses were right up your alley." She shakes her head at the next question, "I was actually on my way for a quick drink at the Quil and Tankard. I /hate/ shopping."

"I know. It's a damned shame that such injustice is perpetuated," Aeron replies humorously. "I was headed to the Quill myself. Care to buy me a drink?" he asks with a playfully hope-filled expression.

"Me buy you a drink? Have you heard of my seat? You probably get more in allowance than the whole island makes in exports." Maera jests as she motions towards the door to the tavern. "Only if you watch me eat."

"Deal!" Aeron exclaims. He bows slightly and makes an exaggerated motion with his hand, directing the Lady Mormont towards the Quill.

Maera doesn't need to be told twice. She heads towards the Quill and Tankard, throws the door open, and walks in.

You cross the little bridge that leads to the river island where the Quill and Tankard stands, and enter the inn.
Quill and Tankard - Hightower and Citadel

The common room of the Quill and Tankard. Rivermen and seamen, smiths and singers, priests and princes, and the novices and acolytes of the Citadel - all come for a taste of the fearsomely strong apple cider that makes this inn so beloved by Oldtown's people There is a pleasant buzz of chatter, cups and tankards being filled and refilled, and general laughter.

A roaring fire in the hearth allows for a merry glow and a comfortable warmth from Oldtown's breezy, misty cobblestone streets. Benches and tables offer places to sit, and there is a deliciously toothsome smell in the air of food from the back.


Upstairs <U>
Hightower Street <HS>
Maera comes in from the street.
Maera has arrived.

Maera adjusts her sword belt before taking a seat at a table near the hearth. She makes quick eye-contact with a serving wench to indicate that she'd like service, and orders cider along with meat stew. "The King is your cousin, then?' She asks Aeron.

Aeron joins Maera at the table, but sits in an odd manner so that his sword isn't hindered by the chair. "Yes, but we're something like fifth or sixth cousins," he explains. "It's all terribly complex and boring. He's not keen on being addressed as cousin dear, either, or so my family tells me."

"No, I can't imagine His Majesty would be." Maera takes a good swallow of her cider when it arrives. "I had no idea there were…..so many of you."

Aeron shrugs and takes a healthy swig of his cider in kind. "I'm from Dragonstone. There are a few of us around there, but since we're not in the direct royal line, the ravens aren't laden with news of our exploits." He reflects a moment and adds, "I've only been back to Westeros myself for a couple years now."

"I always thought Dragonstone was for the Crown Prince and his family." Maera leans back slightly when stew with a chunk of hearty bread on the side of brought out. She dips the bread in and has a bite before adding, "And where did you go, then?"

Aeron nods affirmatively, "Sure, but many people call Dragonstone their home." He takes another swig of his cider. "Well, I guess /technically/ they can't call it their home because they live at the grace of the crown princess." He makes light of the statement by pantomiming a mouth with his hand. "Simply put, I ran away. Spent a bit of time across the sea." He grins and explains, "That's how I came to learn those songs."

"So we know you've been to Lys." Maera says with a faint smile. She puts her bread down, and says with a little shake of her head, "And before I came down here I'd only been as far south as Winterfell. Perhaps if I run away I'll see the rest of the world, then?"

Aeron drains the cider and frowns at the mug's exposed bottom. He raises the glass and waggles it from side to side until a serving wench sees him. "Yeah, I've seen a bit more than Lys, too. Wherever the work took us, but mostly in the free cities. If you can get away, I highly recommend it." He cocks his head and asks, quite seriously, "How's your Valyrian?"

"I don't speak a bit of it." Maera says with a little shrug. "Too busy learning the Old Tongue. I think our Maester was convinced we'd run into Children of the Forest or something."

Aeron chuckles, almost threatening to break out into outright laughter. "Do they even exist? I always thought they were made up myself."

Maera doesn't laugh. "Not every single Wildling we've captured can be a liar, can they?"

"Ahhh, thank you," Aeron says to the server, giving her a playful wink as his cider is delivered. He takes a gulp before asking, "Maybe. Have you ever seen one? Sure, I guess you can say, 'I haven't seen a dragon, but I know they exist.' But you can go to King's Landing and see our dragons. Where can you go to see one of these Children of the Forest?"

"I suppose there may be a chance if I went beyond the wall. Afterall, they put it up how ever long ago to keep something out. I'd wager that something was awfully nasty." Maera glances up at Aeron and gives him a little grin, "Really. Where is your sense of wonder? They /could/ exist."

Aeron concedes a shrug and takes another swig of cider. He leans in a bit and jests, "I think I'd have a better luck finding a virgin whore." He sits back and raises his glass in a toast. "Perhaps in my old age, the Lady Mormont would be gracious enough to fund me an expedition north of the wall to seek out these Children of the Forrest."

"If by funding you mean finding you a row boat that's seaworthy enough to get across the water and enough dried meat to last you a few months, you've got yourself a deal." She spoons some stew into her mouth.

"If that's all you can afford, then you'll at least have to find a plush woman to keep me warm and entertained on my journey," Aeron says. He looks down at his cider, half full and rises. "I gotta piss. Do me a favor keep an eye on my drink?"

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