| Finishing Touches |
| Summary: | A few hours before Ilaria and Alric's wedding, some guests gather to converse. |
| Date: | 27-Jan-2013 |
| Related Logs: | Garden Gathering |
| Players: |
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| Lord's Hall — Broadmoor |
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| Practical rather than lavish, this large hall serves as the main meeting place for those who seek the Lord's ear. A dais raises a pair of matching, tall backed chairs aloft from the polished wood of the main floor, with colorful banners draping the wall at their backs - the vibrant hues of House Haigh incorporated into painstakingly embroidered scenes of glory and triumph. The remaining walls are wood-panelled, lending a certain grandeur in keeping with the tall, vaulted beams of the ceiling overhead, from which several chandeliers hang. Additional light is provided by the high windows within the northern wall. Little expense has been spared in the decorating of the chamber for the evening's festivities and feast. Long trestle tables line the walls, leaving space at the center of the floor for dancing, music provided by the Lord's own minstrels. Bouquets and garlands of richly fragrant and colorful flowers - a traditional selection of deep red roses, sheafs of wheat and golden primroses - are scattered here and there, further spiced with herbs. Every spare inch of the tabletops, it seems, is laden with platters and bowls of sumptuous delicacies, from roast pig glazed with honey and seasoning, to chicken and duck, bread and potatoes, an array of roasted vegetables.. the kitchens of Broadmoor have truly outdone themselves. Servants work briskly to ensure that pitchers and goblets remain overflowing. Overhead, decorative celebratory banners loop from one beam to the next, between the candlelit warmth of the chandeliers. The largest doorway leads to a porch overlooking the Stone Court outside, while a less imposing archway leads to a long gallery to the south. Both are sedately guarded. |
| January 27th, 290 A.L. |
Now that most of the decorating and arrangements are complete, there's really little left to do today but wait. And nitpick. And wait some more. The Lord's hall is relatively quiet, in comparison to the frenzy of the past few days; with only a couple of servants wandering in and out intermittently with this forgotten plate or that cleaner glass. All is glittering and sparkling perfection as the afternoon light streams in dust-specked radiance through the tall windows, and the young lady who strolls the polished floors looks perfectly content to find a moment's quiet here.
Pausing to absently caress a rose petal within a centerpiece between thumb and forefinger, Ceinlys smiles faintly to herself. It doesn't necessarily fit within her responsibilities as Steward.. but having been the one to first put the proposal to the bride, and being a devoted cousin to the little thing, she has found the time to make sure everything is perfect. She's not entirely alone, within the chamber, of course. Brigid is helping a few of her friends amid the kitchen staff as they heft baskets about, enjoying amiable chatter with folks of her own ilk. And, skipping and running about the place with the enthusiasm only a six year old can maintain for any length of time, that fae-like little creature must be her daughter, Hafwen. She has the same dark hair and wide eyes, though hers are a soulful dark brown rather than the icy frost blue of her mother.
Daryl is lead in by a certain courier, having taken the time to clean up, (which he does quite well) and find more appropriate attire for the wedding later. Last night was a -doozy- but the Ashwood seems to handle himself well…He's used to passing out drunk and waking up in time to tend to his duties back in Highfield with little difficulty. Glancing about, Daryl's brows raise as he takes a moment to soak it all in, eyes going to the banners about, the depictions of honor and glory. It captures his attention near the entryway.
But soon the courier politely encourages, "M'lord." And gestures towards the Steward not too far away. While Daryl's get up is rather flashy, as he sets eyes on the young woman across, there's a split second that passes, brows raising in that instinctual show of interest when you spot someone attractive. It's gone as quickly as it comes, Daryl stepping forward with confident swagger, even moreso than normal knowing he's got the outfit to back it. His attention is drawn away even as he nears the lady, to the skipping and running Hafwen. A broad, genuine smile raises as he simply watches the girl run and play, and he offers quietly to Ceinlys, forgetting formal greeting, "…She looks well." The look he has on his countenance is fond, but eventually he snaps out of it and focuses on Ceinlys, bowing his head a touch then. "…Good day M'lady." A small playful smirk at being formal, "How did you sleep?"
Looking up and over one shoulder, then straightening and turning with a faint smile as she recognises Daryl, the young lady folds her arms in an elegant drape of creamy lace, following his gaze toward the child with a nod of assent. "She is almost returned to herself.." The words are murmured, lest they be overheard by the little girl. Seven knows, she's been through enough. It's little wonder she's not straying far from her mother, now that she's home again. And the Steward, for her part, doesn't seem to mind that at all.
Settling her attention back upon the Ashwood now that he's offered proper greeting, Ceinlys smirks a little in kind. She looks quite at ease in her evidently expensive attire and elegantly styled hair - a natural born courtier. "I cannot say that I slept, m'lord. But the lack of consciousness was very restful, indeed." The brunette relents to a grin, before enquiring, as propriety dictates, "And yourself?"
A peal of laughter from the far end of the hall snaps her gaze that way, though it's merely instinct. You cannot scold a child for laughing. "Hafwen?" Calling across to her daughter, Ceinlys arches a brow in a vaguely 'behave yourself' expression. It earns a sunny smile from the child. "..come and greet our guest." The girl looks to Daryl, noticing him for the first time. Then she simply takes off at a run toward the man, slippers skidding some on the wooden floor underfoot. It would seem she recognises him. She remembers herself at the last moment, under her mother's subtle look, and screeches to a halt, dipping into a careful curtsey and grinning. "M'lord."
"Oh, much the same," Daryl says with a small, almost devious sort of smile, eyes sparkling with mischief as he regards the woman. "We ensured Lord Alric a good time. As promised." He has to look away to stifle the grin that rises. "I imagine you were able to deliver similar enjoyment to the ladies?" Hopefully not too similar…
When Hafwen is called and runs over, Daryl's gaze goes down to her. It's as if his typical mask fades away, and Ceinlys has a clear look at the good heart that lies within Daryl, deeply buried under confidence and swagger, as well as the 'drunken idiot' facade he often wears. "M'lady!" Daryl replies with an -almost- as enthusiastic reply, seemingly wanting to run into the little girl as well, ensure that she is okay. He dips head in an overly formal bow to her little curtsey before lowering himself down to a crouch in front of the little girl, so they are eye level. His winning smile emanates off his countenance as he looks her over.
"I was -hoping- i'd run into you here," Daryl says softly, reaching for a pocket and withdrawing none other than the embroidery she had made for him, the depiction of a wolf. A raise of his brows, "As -soon- as I recieved this I knew I would have to find the skilled artist responsible. This." He indicates the cloth with a glance, "Is a work of beauty. Thank you, Hafwen. How are you?" His attention drifts up to Ceinlys, and even then he cannot mask his warm expression, "Did your mother give you my gift in return, I hope?…I'm no craftsman, but it once belonged to my sister long ago, and I thought it would've been a perfect fit!" His tone as he speaks to Hafwen is a bit dramatic at points, but only in attempt to alleviate the child's mood.
"Ladies are far easier to scandalize." is the only reply Ceinlys offers.. and that's not much of an answer at all, is it? The answering gleam in her cerulean eyes likely says more than the words that pass her lips, though. With the arrival of the whirlwind that is her daughter, the Steward is distracted, observing the little girl's curtsey with an indulgent smile. Even now, she can't help but think of her as a baby - for all the polished mannerisms drummed into her by Septas and tutors, Hafwen now fidgets shyly with her skirts, grubbying the fabric with her fingers as she solemnly looks up at Daryl.
Her mother doesn't push, or answer for her. The child has to learn to speak for herself, as and when she's ready. But the dark-haired woman does seem to enjoy the exchange, as it unfolds. When Daryl produces the scrap of embroidery, the girl blinks, instinctively outstretching one hand to trace the edges of the wolf she had determinedly sewn all by herself, and begins to smile tentatively at the Ashwood Lord. "I'm fine, thank you.. I skinned my knee yesterday, look." Before her fearsome mother can prevent her, the child raises her skirt just enough to reveal a skinny leg beneath, which does indeed have a scrape and a nicely purpling bruise.
"Hafwen!" The admonishment from Ceinlys is only half-hearted, with just the right combination of amusement and exasperation. A glance goes aside to Daryl and she shakes her head in mute apology for her roguish child.
The girl ignores her, other than a mischievous grin, but does drop the hem again, now nodding cheerfully at the young man. This time, a sleeve is pulled up to show off the little bracelet. "It fits." she declares.
Daryl laughs softly at the little girl's antics, his head falling briefly while eyes search the floor before he raises it back up with that winning smile. "So I see. I have one of those too…Though I think your mother wouldn't be so fond if I showed you it. Besides…A little cut like that can't stop you. Your one tough little lady." A chuckle and he moves to pocket the cloth then, "This is going right up on my wall once i'm at home. I think i'll have it framed, okay?"
His eyes settle on the bracelet for a couple seconds silent, a brave smile and nod following. "It does…" He notes, "I had to come and make sure myself. It was my little sister's a long time ago. I hope you like it." He rises to his feet then, smile falling only slightly so he doesn't look like a complete grinning idiot, despite how much warmth he exhibits from Hafwen's presence. "Are you excited for the wedding?"
There's a look back to Ceinlys then, one side of his lips twisting upwards as he gives a look that just screams in non-verbal message, 'That kid is toooo cute.'
The look Daryl receives in return is simpler still; a proud, unspoken 'I know'. As for Hafwen, she seems to have warmed up to the man, now that she's overcome that initial shy study, and she's now chattering away, unwilling to so easily lose his attention. "I'm getting my own bouquet. Lady Ilaria used to look after me, you know. When I was a baby." The tone implies she requires no such attendance now. Alas, her mother thinks otherwise. Still smiling in spite of herself, Ceinlys raises a staying hand gently toward her daughter.
"Hafwen. Why don't you go and help Brigid and the other women for a little while. I'm certain you'll see plenty of Lord Daryl for the next day or so. Go on." Rather than sulk, the child obliges, only first flinging her arms around her mother's legs and hugging her fiercely. Softening, the Steward holds the little girl close for a moment, before releasing her when she begins to squirm. She takes off running again, this time back to the far end of the hall.
"I swear, that child never learned to walk. She runs everywhere." It's strange, to hear such maternal affection in the voice of a woman widely considered both heartless and cold. Then again, Daryl knows better. Turning her gaze upon him with a smile, the woman flits a glance over his attire and nods in approval. "..you look particularly dashing today, m'lord. No plans to steal the heart of the bride, I trust?"
"The bride would hardly be a challenge," Daryl counters with quick wit, his grin transforming from the warm one given Hafwen as she runs off to his more typical one of devious nature and shameless intent, hues settling on Ceinlys then, "I set my eyes on one of higher station. You know…To ensure a good future for my House and all that." While he says this, he lets his gaze travel down her form, the look in his eyes suggesting that bringing honor to his house would be the -last- reason for doing so.
-Above the neck- Miranda's reminder quickly snaps his eyes back up towards the woman's face.
, "And you're looking even more beautiful than normal. And on the day of your cousin's wedding. Tsk tsk." A playful grin arises after the flattering look which still lingers behind his hues. "So…Might I be the one to have you on my arm?…Considering we will not steal away the show, of course. That's hardly my intention."
"You liar." The teasing accusation is borne on amused tones, as Daryl claims to be uninterested in taking center stage. Still with her arms folded across her middle, the young lady merely smirks as those green eyes wander, typically unperturbed by the rather.. uncouth attention. She is, after all, particularly well-dressed today. He's welcome enough to look. "You want to flaunt yourself about in front of that Erenford, and prove to everyone that you don't really care. Well, if you think you're going to entangle me in such a wicked scheme, Lord Daryl.." The woman straightens to her absolute fullest height, then leans in just a touch, softening her tone conspiratorially, "..then you're absolutely right."
Returning to his earlier words, though, the Steward sobers a touch, withdrawing from that brief moment of proximity. "..it is good to hear that you consider the future of House Ashwood. You must remain united, as a family, or you will falter. And I would not wish to see it." Frowning ever-so-slightly, the young lady casts her gaze away from the man before her, focusing for the moment upon a couple of passing servants.
Daryl restrains his grin as best he can as she calls him out, though as she speaks, it falls some, unsure of her response until she leans in, which elicits a delighted sort of chuckle. "Now now…I didn't say all that. Well…Maybe. But it is not just that." The look he gives her is likely a bit foreign, considering almost. He doesn't expand on that. "You'll be stealing away all the attention from me, besides. Until I make a fool of us both on the dance floor, atleast."
A chuckle then, which somewhat fades as he sees her sobering countenance, "Fear not, M'lady…Though I jest I do take such things quite seriously. In the sense of the House as a whole." As her attention strays, he's eager to pull it back, "Are there more preparations that need finishing?…Or may I steal you away for a walk?…I'll admit I could use a small tour of Broadmoor."
"There's no such thing as a small tour." chuckles the young lady, passing a glance toward her daughter as she chatters and smiles with the household retainers. "But if you wish for some air, m'lord, I would gladly show you what I can, before the festivities begin. And before the other ladies appear, groaning about their aching heads." For a long moment, Ceinlys returns the young lord's gaze, steadily and just as difficult to read. "I've little interest in holding the attention of those I have no care for. I only want to ensure that my cousin's day goes beautifully. She deserves it. Much as I love my family, Ilaria is without doubt the only one of my cousins who conducts herself with effortless grace at all times." Probably not when she's shitfaced drunk. But what happens behind closed doors is no business of hungover Lordlings.
"Come. We can begin with the fountain court." A pointed glance toward her handmaid earns Ceinlys a nod of affirmation - she'll keep an eye on Hafwen. Though her displeasure over her mistress' choice of companion is palpable as she flits her shrewd eyes toward Daryl. Or maybe that's just the way Brigid's face is. "I don't think there's much more I can do here, anyway. How are you enjoyig your visit, thus far?" Strolling toward the smaller of the two doors that lead into the hall, the young woman keeps her gaze upon the Deputy with a half smile. Whatever passing thoughts had troubled her, they appear to be set aside for now.
"See, now you've captured my attention." Daryl admits about the idea of hungover Ladies. He knows he and -his- own had a grand time…So what do ladies do the night before a wedding? He seems to ponder this as he takes Ceinlys' side, offering a broad grin towards Brigid over his shoulder and a small nod. Might as well meet the face of death with a charming and welcoming grin.
Attention captured by the young woman beside oncemore, Daryl continues onwards at casual stride, though he does give a slightly curious look towards the Steward. Just what was it was she was brainstorming beneath those raven-colored locks? Soon he's looking forwards again, jaw tensing a tad, showing his sharp bone structure. "It's been quiet a good time, I have to admit. A shame that one bastard had to spoil the gathering in the garden with his shabby company, but…" He makes it seem like he doesn't even know who the man is. Or he really didn't give two shits about him. "The Old Hoe rivals the Ash and Oak as far as good times go…Or perhaps they just follow me wherever I go?" A teasing grin and he…Sidles just a touch closer, offering his arm confidently for her to take should she wish while they go on a mini tour.
| Long Gallery East — Broadmoor |
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| This seemingly endless hall hints at the opulent undertones of the otherwise pragmatic House occupying the Keep. Stunning tapestries and exquisite paintings line the inner wall, the outer divided many times over by tall leaded windows, looking onto the Fountain Court outside, to which a number of archways lead. At the farthest end, beyond a small fireplace, spiralling stairs rise to the next floor, while a more notable door enters the Lords Hall. |
Strolling through the arching doorway of the Lord's Hall, the Lady Ceinlys and Lord Daryl cross into the long gallery, where morning sunlight pours through the pillars overlooking the Fountain Court. The pair seem embroiled in pleasant conversation, and judging by the lingering retainers left behind in the large chamber, the young lady has been overseeing some finishing touches for the festivities to come. Draping banners can be glimpsed, slung from the beams, and the tables are beautifully set, decorated with enormous floral centerpieces. She's outdone herself. How spoiled her cousins are!
"You speak of one Maldred Rivers, m'lord. A Frey bastard, or so he claims. With delusions of grandeur, in the extreme." Pausing by the balconied wall that enbcloses the hallway, the ebon-maned woman releases her light hold upon the Ashwood's arm, settling to a comfortable lean of her hips against the edge, her back to the courtyard. "My first encounter with him was at Aleister's side.. and he behaved even less well then. If he causes issue this evening, I would see it dealt with. Swiftly." There's little doubt the Steward would follow through on that threat, needs be. But for now, all in all, she appears happy enough. Content, even.
Daryl keeps in casual stride, and it seems the two have already readied themselves for the wedding to take place later, the Lady in an elegant, shoulderless dress and the Lord in a flashy, show-offy surcoat, which is night and day difference from the typical hardened leathers he wears. "Hm, it's such a shame when one doesn't understand their position in life. Though we did have a lively conversation about his whore mother." A casual shrug as if the topic didn't faze him in the least, and he looks out over the fountain court with a faint smile.
"It's nice here," Daryl admits after a moment's pause. "To look upon fresh scenery and get out the confines of the inn and the training grounds of Highfield." He pauses a moment, hesitation there be he looks back over his shoulder at Ceinlys, "…Do let me know if he needs taking care of. And Ser Erik as well. I believe we all got off on the wrong foot and I would relish the opportunity to set things straight." There's a bit of a dark grin, hidden away as he looks out over the area some more, but ready to move on should she wish to continue the tour.
Slippered feed are the first sign of someone descending the spiraled stairway from above. Laryssa takes the steps smoothly, with the measured grace assisted by an intimate knowledge of one's surroundings. Not far behind her is her handmaid and the two are in soft conversation. Though the Haigh girl is in good appearance; well-attired, hair arranged well, but there's a touch of darkness beneath her eyes. The Lady Ceinlys would well know the source of those circles. As her feet touch down in the hall proper and her maid joins her at her side, Laryssa casts blue eyes along the hall. There's something of a double-take as she realizes the man in the finery is in point of fact Daryl Ashwood. A slight furrow forms in her brow, but with hands clasped before her, Laryssa makes her way slowly in the direction of the other two nobles.
"Hmm." Ceinlys' response is, at first, equally noncommital as she considers her companion's opinion. "Usually, I would simply ignore him, He's plainly the victim of his own fantasies. But.. if he cannot maintain some semblance of decorum within the walls of this keep, he will not be permitted to remain. Anyway, on to happier matters."
Pivoting on a heel, the young noblewoman comes to face the Deputy more directly, only to look past him as she notes Laryssa's arrival and approach. Well, good afternoon, cousin.." she teases, given that it's nowhere near midday yet. "How are you, this fine day?" No immediate introduction is offered between her relative and the man accompanying her.. surely they met in the crowd of the gardens the previous afternoon? "Prepared for more wine and merriment, I hope." Ceinlys is fairly fresh, all things considered. Then again, she has wine for breakfast, most days.
Daryl acknowledges Ceinlys with a nod as he straightens, "We'll have to wait and see then," The Ashwood follows her gaze past and when he spots Laryssa, his brows raise some and he offers a pleasant enough smile, though there is a bit of uncertainty there. "M'lady. I heard you had an enjoyable evening?" There's a little teasing there too, but he looks between the two Haigh women with amusement. What the -hell- did they do?!
Smiling a tad he continues, "I can't wait for it to start. There's just something about weddings that's so…Uplifting." The mass amount of alcohol maybe. He shuts up then so the women can talk.
As the ice to Sabriel's fire, Laryssa is not used to such things as Emotions. And there have been a lot of Emotions as of late, so she drank deeper and heavier than she may have otherwise. There's a brief flicker of eyes as she considers the time of day and a somewhat wry expression is given to Ceinlys. "I am well, thank you. I did not realize we were getting attired for the festivities so early." Her outfit is already laid out, to be certain, but she did not wish to go through all of that just yet. The closing of the distance between herself and the other two is a time for studying the Ashwood and there's a faint, bemused glint in her gaze. "Lord Daryl, I was unaware you could clean up so well. And yes, I had a very enjoyable evening. It is nice to be home."
"When you have so many things to attend as I do, on days such as these, it's best to get such trivial matters as attire out of the way early." Trivial? Ceinlys is dressed beautifully, even down to the careful arrangement of her usually loose raven waves. But true enough, a Steward has little time to dally over such things.. and she's not the sort to leave it to the last minute, either. If the perceptive young lady notes the faint tension between the pair she converses with, it doesn't show.
A slight curve plays across the glacial-eyed woman's lips in response to Daryl's commentary. Yes, everybody loves a wedding. And the debauchery that comes afterward. "It is good to see you returned, cousin. Your sister was plainly delighted to see you again, also." Such displays of warmth aren't exactly Ceinlys' forte, but that one amused her.
A crooked smirk rests on the Deputy's features as he glances aside, eyes narrowing as he looks away for only a second. "Well, you'd be surprised what's beneath all the grime, dirt and hardened leather. All it takes is a bright new surcoat and a clean shave." A confident sort of smile rises, hinting that its quite easy for him to alternate between rugged and scruffy and well kept and handsome. "But I pale in comparison to the both of you, all truth told." Charmer, even when Laryssa hasn't even gotten dressed.
At the mention of Laryssa's sister Sabriel, Daryl chuckles lightly, looking towards the younger Haigh, "She seems just like you. I can feel the family resemblance. It's tangible." He's just teasing at this point, sarcasm evident. There's a faint, unrelated and nonchalant glance towards Ceinlys.
Aeron still has no real appeal for lots of people. And during a wedding there isn't much in the way of escape from that. So, much like his time in Highfield, the ranger moves down the hall like a liquid shadow, first beginning as little more than vague movement out of the corner of ones eye, until the Nayland seems to just 'appear', melting into view. Stone floors as they might be, there's no sound of footsteps that announce his presence, the man moves virtually silent. Old habits, ones that die rather hard, and staying out of people's way has been his modus operandi. And now that Sabriel is off doing…well whatever it is that she's doing, he's left to fend for himself. Which is fine, he'll probably just keep moving around until he's called for.
"I do not envy you that, cousin." While Laryssa has spent much of her time studying how to run a household, she's also perceptive enough to savor her time without such responsibilities. Her lips do quirk slightly at the mention of her sister. "Neither of us had intended to be apart so long," she explains softly. She, too, is not one for such displays. At least in public, where so many can see them. However, once one sees Sabriel and how outgoing she is, it gives more explanation to the hows and whys of Laryssa's own mien. There's a look towards Daryl and though it flickers in her eyes, she keeps the rest of her features schooled. Their usual dance now- charm blended with teasing. The blonde girl draws in a long breath, "You know, Lord Daryl, my sister has the love of nature that I do not. Perhaps the two of you could share tales of the wild sometime."
Withdrawing a little as the conversation begins to flow, Ceinlys folds her arms comfortably and simply observes the two as they banter back and forth. It's amusing, to see Laryssa gently coaxed into such chatter. They're vaguely similar, in that regard - that aloof presence. Granted a moment's respite from it herself, aside from a returned glance toward the Ashwood when he looks her way, one brow quirking in subtle enquiry, the Steward lets her gaze wander the gallery absently, unsurprisingly settling upon Aeron in the end. Ugh, a Nayland in Broadmoor. Such a thing would normally irritate her beyond belief.
In this instance, though, the man is a guest of her cousin.. and he's making at least some effort to be personable, which is more than can be said for many of his ilk. And so, in a moment of charity, she nods in gentle greeting toward him. She's not really familiar enough to offer a greeting aloud. But it's a start. And no small thing, given her usual demeanour in dealing with those less palatable.
Damn it. Daryl clears his throat some, masking an amused raise of his lips at Laryssa's comment, and replies, "While I do have love for the wilderness, I believe…" He trails off as there's a perfect intro for Aeron, the Deputy luckily spotting the elusive figure and calling him over, "Lord Aeron! Lord Aeron, please join us." With a more confident sort of smile, he continues to Laryssa, "I believe my stories would be very unimpressive in comparence to that of her betrothed's." A look to the Nayland then. "Well. I might have one or two good ones, but."
Leaving it at that, the Ashwood has no problem bringing the anti-socialite in to get the spotlight off himself. To add to that, he turns to Ceinlys to elaborate on the look he had given her, "Ah…It seems our tour has been cut short, though I hardly mind. Building up to tonights festivities. I wonder where the bride to be is at the moment." A pause…And the groom. Though he doesn't voice that part. Hopefully he's alive.
There's a glance cast for her cousin, but it's Daryl that commands most of Laryssa's attention at this moment. She absently brushes palms against her skirt, before clasping hands once more. Her gaze drifts to Aeron, taking in the Nayland. Lips press together as she considers the man. He's the betrothed to her sister, so she needs be polite. He's also the reason her sister has been gone so long and is like to be again. A deep breath is taken and her eyes return to the Ashwood. "Perhaps before everyone departs for their homes, I can hear stories from both of you. I am working on some ideas for poems and I am sure you can provide some insight."
At the calling of his name, Aeron almost seems to take on a more solid shape, as if his outline was blurry, intermingled with shadowy whisps. He hadn't intended on intruding, content enough to just walk on by. Not knowing how Ceinlys is, he does return the nod out of courtesy. Too many people, too many faces, too many people he simply doesn't know. But Daryl does get special privelige being able to reign him in when he asks. "Nobody wants to hear my stories, Lord Daryl. I doubt anyone here is going to want to hear about life in the mountains. Full of stories of harsh winters, hard living, and the occasional Wildling attack." It's not that he's sombor, but it's clear that the Nayland is minding every single word that's coming out of his mouth. The man clearly has an understand that he's not appreciated here, welcomes veiled against and underlying of simple tolerance. "Lady Laryssa." he greets quietly. Glancing back at Daryl, he manages up a small grateful smile. "I didn't get a chance to thank you for the drinks last night. I appreciated the invitation."
Smoothing a wrinkle from her skirts with an idle sweep of one palm, Ceinlys habitually reaches to tuck back a tendril of dark hair from her face.. then remembers the strict orders of her handmaid not to touch it. Sigh. Firmly clasping her hands before herself instead, she turns her attention to Daryl as he addresses her, smiling a touch. "Another time. It would take at least a few hours to show you all of it, at any rate." Expansive place, the seat of House Haigh. As one would expect, really. These mentions of her companion and the wild places of the world do catch her notice, and she looks between he and Laryssa with a soft chuckle. "I expect the best of Lord Daryl's tales might be better composed as a bawdy tavern song, cousin." A deliberately sweet smile is cast the man's way, before she falls quiet again.
In the Lord's Hall just beyond, the finishing touches are yet being made to the lavish arrangements for the coming celebration. Having taken a short break, with the intent of showing the visiting Ashwood some of the Keep, the Lady Steward is now contentedly standing within the gallery, chatting pleasantly with he and her cousin, the Lady Laryssa. Apparently both parties the previous evening ran a little wild, though Ceinlys wears her fatigue well. Years of practice. Curiously, her vivid blue eyes flit to regard Aeron, as he speaks of the North. Not a topic she knows much of, and it's therefore of apparent interest. Enough to hold her attention for a short time, at least, even if she refrains from addressing him.
"Maybe I could," Daryl asides back towards Laryssa, "Though you're not very good at sucking poetic ideas from us Ashwoods, now are you?" A wry sort of smile at that, and he shrugs casually, "In fact, I don't think i've ever composed a single decent bit of poetry in my life." There's something about that statement that has him glancing off idly.
Aeron's words rally him back, and he smirks a little and shrugs lightly, "But she is your bride to be. She better get used to such tales." A small chuckle, and he seems pleasant enough as he dips his head down, "Of course, i'm sure Lord Alric was glad to have you there," Well, he makes it sound that way, atleast. "Though I…Can't recall when you slipped away," He did have that stealthy way about him, "Were you there for the..Music?" A polite smile rises as he looks at Aeron with a 'choose your words carefully' kind of message across.
Towards Ceinlys he narrows his eyes, though its with good humor and shakes his head. "Maybe. But only the finest bards would be able to allow it to grace their lips." A snicker, and her smile is returned in kind, gaze lingering a second longer before his eyes dart back to Aeron and Laryssa.
The Jast Knight finally makes his appearance, though at least where other nobles are present that is. The young knight is an early riser on most days and to focus his thoughts on the upcoming days, he would head to the training ground. This morning, there is a delay on his part as there is no training ground at Broadmoor that he knows of, so he had to settle for a long walk on the grounds before returning to his quarters.
When Erik left his assigned room again, he is in a much more presentable fashion, having prepared for the day's events. His feet carries him to the Long Gallery near where the Lord's Hall is situated and it isn't surprising for him to see a gathering of nobles already.
"That actually sounds like it could lead to quite the epic tale, if composed properly," Laryssa says to Aeron with a hint of a smile. "Perhaps if you phrase things well enough, you could win over some of those you fear might shoot at you." It is a tempting idea, but she's a lady, and ladies get others to do the shooting. There's a glance cast towards her cousin: "I suppose the Lord Ashwood will just have to remain after the wedding to receive a full tour." Said Lord, mind, draws a wry expression and her lips press into a line for a moment, "It is true, though I found the Sheriff can be quite inspirational in that regard." She trails off, looking between the two men. Perhaps seeking out what may have occured during their own revelries. In these glances, she catches sight of the Sheriff of Highfield and the perceptive might notice that she straightens a bit more, chin lifted. "Lord Erik," she calls to the man once he's near enough that it won't be a shout. "I trust your rooms are to your liking?"
"My lady, as a Nayland, I fear I'm quite loathed, in due of the actions of my…" Aeron hesitates and his jaw sets, the next word coming out like it was something that upset his stomach, "…relatives. Ones who's actions I was still far to the North, farther than Winterfell, with the Flints of the Mountains when they occurred." He waves his hand. "So no, I haven't been shot or maimed. Well, not yet at any rate. I feel to keep my realism within acceptable means. However, I've been told I do well at recalling tales of high adventure in the mountains. One day, I shall return to it. I am no poet, but I would consider myself a writer of sorts. Amateur, I suspect, but it is a hobby." Turning back to Daryl, he smiles a little. "Oh, I'm sure Sab will tire of my stories sooner or later. I just try to tell myself their entertaining. But…uh, yeah, I had my drinks and retreated to my room. You all seemed to enjoy yourself quite a bit, and I needed to fletch some arrows before trying to sleep. So…I missed the music? I think I leave around the time that Lord Bastien did. I take it missed a lot?"
While taking a break is all well and good, the Steward never can tolerate being idle for long. With a murmured word, she excuses herself from the group as one of the house retainers appears in the doorway of the hall, hovering expectantly and plainly needing a word with their mistress. A meaningful glance carries toward Daryl, though the message is unclear. And likely intended that way, in present company. A warm smile is afforded to the Sheriff of Highfield, in passing, though she doesn't linger to chat.
Daryl smirks lightly towards Laryssa, watching the exchange between her and Aeron and then shifting his attention towards the Jast knight as he sees him approaching. There's a faint grin that plays on his lips as he dips his head in greeting. "Ser Erik." He glances at the man across, then at his own attire, and manages to not chuckle as he replies to the Nayland, "Ah, I see. Well," he waves a hand lightly, "Yes, there was some good music being played there, must've started just after your departure. It was my first time ever entering the Old Hoe so I was quite impressed." He leaves it at that, not wanting to break the unwritten man law rules. There's a glance towards Ceinlys as she steps off, his head tilting a little at her exit until she turns and send him that look, and he meets her eyes, a small nod.
Hearing his name being called, Erik's attention switches from what is in front of him towards one of the groups as that is where the source of the voice is coming from. As he approaches, he sees that it is the Lady Laryssa that had called to him. Coming to a stop when he arrives at the gathered group, the Jast Knight makes the appropriate greetings, bowing his head respectfully to Laryssa, "Good day, My Lady, you look quite lovely today. And yes, the hospitality that has been afforded me is excellent, thank you for such considerations." He then turns his gaze to Ceinlys and smiles, bowing his head respectfully as well, "Lady Ceinlys, you are absolutely radiant." Though Erik has not seen the bride yet, he could have mistaken the Haigh as the bride if he didn't know better. But then she's gone, onto more important matters which isn't surprising. The Nayland is given a glance and with a little bit of hesitation, the young knight inclines his head respectfully to the other man, "Good day." And finally to Daryl, Erik throws a smirk towards his Deputy, "Looks like you are in good working order today, Lord Daryl."
More to follow
