|How to Make an Entrance|
|Summary:||As the nobles trickle into Stonebridge for the tourney, the regularly-scheduled Terrick/Nayland posturing is interrupted by Lord Jason Mallister, and his warship.|
|Related Logs:||Gifts and Barbs|
|Outskirts of Stonebridge - Stonebridge|
|The roads are worn and well tended here and the fields on either side are lush and filled with wildflowers. The tournament tent is set up just north of the road and a grand pavilion rests to the central right of it, set with the colors of House Tordane. Knight's tents are being set up everywhere there is room and high ground. They dot the countryside and near the Tordane tent there is a cart of water and food, a small general area for the nobles to greet the hosts and partake in food to ease their journies.|
|Fri Jul 22, 288|
Getting tents set up doesn't usually take too long. Its a job some people are just used to. People mill about in their usual fashions and many trade greetings between the houses. Still some are meeting for the first time. This is certainly the case for one man in particular: Ryker. Brand new on the return to the area, he still has yet to meet many of the people — especially those farther north. Isolde was asked to accompany him and did-so. A solid time was spent with the Haighs, introducing Isolde to them as well, before he begins his trek over towards the Terrick banners with her. However, rather than invade the tent, Ryker comes to a stop comfortably on the outside edge of the encampment and seems to be waiting to be recognized in some fashion. there's no move to control Isolde or place her anywhere in particular in relation to him. Hands clasped behind his back, he stands patiently while his eyes move around the goings-on.
Jarod has been over at the Terrick camp as it's set up, though he emerges from it now, talking idly with another of his father's knights down for the tourney. He's divested himself of his armor, and returned to one of the green tunics he favors. He still wears his sword at his belt, tied with a sash in Terrick colors, to make his House affiliation clear enough. The somewhat lousy mood he left the Tordane tent in earlier seems to have been retained, however, despite being lighter in terms of steel plating.
Isolde for her part, had not thought they would be visiting the tent of House Terrick, so when she sees the colors, the lady tenses. Horse hair still caught on her emerald dress, she pats a hidden pocket where the trinket rests that she had been given. Behind the two stand a sworn, made to accompany them as is the fashion with unwed nobles. Staying at his side with some distance between, she tenses as she see Jarod. At least it is not Jaremy and relief washes through her. "Ser Jarod.." She says warmly, trying to gain his attention and not wanting to stand so oddly in waiting for too much longer.
Having seen to the horses and pried into his future sister-in-law's love life with wild impertinence, there's still unpacking to do, so here's Rowan! Hauling the saddlebags and other packs that had, previously, been the burden of two strong-backed beasts with more than 900 pounds of muscle on the bone. He huffs and puffs and collapses in a pile of luggage near his knight's tent. "Oi!"
Ryker seems to take his cue from Isolde speaking up. He wasn't there for the names earlier and the man has already had to meet dozens of people today. Names. Faces. They blend together. But its likely he needs to know this one so he calls to the man. "Ser.. Jarod, is it?" He glances to Isolde and then back. Its not a mocking tone. More curious. The future Lord of Stonebridge doesn't seem to be spoiling or angling for a fight by his manner, at least.
Jarod's does crook a slight grin when Isolde greets him, turning to meet her. "Lady Isolde." Another slight bow, though there's a warmth in his tone as well. "I'm sorry that we didn't get a chance to speak more before. It's been far too long, and that meeting wasn't the sort I'd have liked." Eyes briefly flit to her face again. "For any of us, I'll wager. Jaremy's just been…" Whatever Jaremy's been, it is not stated as Ryker approaches. And then his smile fades into something more serious once more, and he crosses his arms along his chest. "Ser Jarod Rivers, m'Lord. Aye. And you'd be the Young Lord Nayland, if I guess right. Your face isn't known around these parts, m'Lord, but you're building a reputation anyhow." His tone is on the curt side of cordial. Poor Rowan is not yet noticed by his knight.
"It is alright, we have the tourney to talk, Jarod." She says his name in the relaxed way she speaks with most of the Terricks and their own. Isolde returns that smile, her face brightening yet it calms some with Jarod's reaction. The Lady makes no assumptions to introduce and turns her head to look up at Ryker. Rowan, though unnoticed by his knight, is taken note of by the Lady of Stonebridge and she levels a soft smile for him. A nod given but what is to transpire has her attention more so.
"No, really. No one mind me," Rowan's voice pipes dryly from somewhere in the pile of satchels and packs. A hand and slender arm wriggle out of the leathern mound like something dead rising from the grave, shoving a space for the squire's messy head to poke through. "I'll just be over here suffocating. I live to serve." He quirks a dimpled, comic smirk at Isolde and climbs finally to his feet, stumbling and flailing a bit as he trips on a saddlebag, finger-combing his hair back and righting his tabard.
Ryker doesn't interrupt the words between Isolde and Jarod. He just listens, glancing between them. When he is addressed, though, he dips his head respectfully to the man before him. "That is correct. Ser Ryker Nayland. I suspect your description of my reputation is dead on." It trails as he glances off towards a few tents before coming back to Jarod. "When I came upon the arrival before, I could tell things were not the warmest. I thought it best that I stay my tongue so that we might make introductions under better terms. Especially without the influence of Ser Rygar or Lady Valda. I understand their relations with House Terrick are less than cordial right now." He deadpans the last, sounding as though this was not something he was pleased to discover. With Rowan's calls, though, he leans a bit to see the young squire and chuckles a bit. At least he's in high spirits for now.
"Good lad, Rowan. Keep it up," Jarod calls to Rowan at the sound of his voice. It is very unlikely he was paying any attention at all to what his squire was actually saying or doing. Attention is fixed on Ryker and Isolde, and Ryker's attempt at pleasantries does nothing to make him more friendly. "Less than cordial is an understatement, m'Lord Nayland. But, that's all highlord politics. I don't play, myself. I am but a sworn sword for my lord father and brother, and I serve them however they need be. I like to think I serve them passing well in that regard. The tourney, aye. I've been looking forward to it since it was announced. Tell me, m'Lord Nayland. Ser Rygar suggested he'd be competing in the melee. Do you intend to take part as well?"
Rown receives a warm smile, glad for the little show even if it may not be meant. She can not save herself the grin that spreads to her lips. Ryker's words are a surprise and yet, they should not be. The Lady shifts on her feet and folds her hands before her. "That is putting it lightly, my Lord. My Lady Mother has fallen from attendance to the Terrick halls since my father died.." They had some similiar conversation, "Of which I am very sorry." Her green eyes meet Jarod's with that and she offers him a soft smile. Yet the talk of tourney need not concern the Lady and so she falls to silence once more, taking the time to study the men.
"Excellent, Rowan. Good job, Rowan," the squire mutters, though there's a fondness to the grousing that's hard to mistake. "Gone and fallen down a well, have you? Well done!" He hauls the bags back up onto his shoulders and back, struggle-trudging into the tent where, by the sound of it, he collapses again — and perhaps knocks over a suit of armor. There's a very loud and creative string of invectives. Several of them in Dornish — because, really, no one can curse quite as effectively as the Dornish.
"Agreed," Ryker says quickly to the observation of his understatement. Its the same dry tone. "Well if you ride with the Young Lord Ser Jaremy Terrick, I suspect that you serve in your capacity better than simply 'passing well'." He turns a bit to regard Isolde and takes a long breath. "I suppose that should not surprise me, m'Lady. Though a woman with a tongue like hers does not strike me as an individual who would be welcome among friends or enemies alike. I'm likewise sorry." She would understand, but the statement is meant in all sincerity. His attention then falls back to Jarod and he gives the man a quick laugh. "No. No, I suspect that considering how my arrival has been received by some that I might be massed against and mauled. As entertaining the notion may be to some, I enjoy my head and have grown attached. But in all seriousness, I am more interested in seeing the men of the Riverlands compete. I've been away fifteen years and am anxious to see what the newest crop of men is capable of."
"You've ever been a friend of my lord father's house, my lady, and for my part that hasn't changed," Jarod says to Isolde. Before his much-sharper gaze goes back to Ryker. "Ah. Well, that's probably for the best, if I may say, m'Lord," Jarod replies to the man, when he mentions he won't be competing. "I suspect you'd find your opponents in the melee a bit different than what you're plainly accustomed to, where fisticuffs are concerned." He doesn't even bother to keep the faux-politeness in his tone for that one. "For my part, I prefer fighting knights who can hit me back, and on that score it's shaping up to be a fun little bit of fighting. Though I'll not be trying to take anyone's head, for my part. It's a tourney, not war. No man wants to kill another here. Seven hope not, at least, or else that takes a good bit of the fun out of it."
Meeting Ryker's gaze she softens a little, despite the circumstances her attention is given to him without malice. "My Lady mother has a heavy hand with many." Isolde lifts a hand to brush a finger up near her cheek. A smile remains upon her lips as Jarod speaks of her still being a friend, the crash of poor Rowan in the tent has her stir. She looks about ready to check on him when the comments of fisticuffs is heard. A brow furrows and Isolde steps forward. "Ser Jarod…" Her voice is quiet. "The Young Lord is honorable.." SHe does not wish to embarass Jarod but she clears her throat. "My mother struck me I spoke out of turn. Lord Ryker was the one that stepped between us and championed for my sake. Do not fault him." She says, pressing her fingers to the wealth of her dress.
"Uhm," says Rowan, appearing at Jarod's elbow and eyeing his knight. He looks from Isolde to Ryker to Jarod again, chewing lightly on his bottom lip. Perhaps this situation calls for a ham-fisted subject change? "Hello," he interjects, thrusting a hand out at Ryker cordially. "I'm Rowan. It's been a bit. You've mother's look about you. Shame, that. Probably means you'll lose your hair."
Ryker just looks back at Jarod and takes a heaved breath. A look then to Isolde. "Well-then. It would appear your darling mother has fucked things beyond good reason. Lovely." A turn and look back to Jarod. He waits for Isolde to say whatever it is that she wants to say quietly before he speaks once more. "I hope the rest of the Terricks are more amenable to having a discussion without traded lines. If you'd be so kind as to let Ser Jaremy know that I wish to speak with him privately? There are some things that I feel, personally, that he should be aware of regarding…this situation." He seems about to step off when Rowan arrives and introduces himself. His serious expression lightens a bit and he grins. "Well! Little brother. I see you've inherited Rickart's sharp wit. Probably means you'll lose your mind." A little brotherly love and he takes Rowan's hand to shake it heartily. "Squiring for House Terrick? How did you manage that?"
"Huh?" Jarod was working himself into a fine damsel-defending snit right there. Which Isolde derails. He just takes a moment to sort of blink. And flush a fine shade of red. "You're mother…?" Said like he's about to ask more about that. But, after a look between Ryker and Rowan, he does not. He clears his throat. Making a few more "Er…" sounds. "Right. Well then. Just made a fine ass out of myself, didn't I? Good, good, good. Sorry, my lady. That was…out-of-turn." Ahem. Ryker does not actually get an apology but he's far less snippy than before when he says, "Aye, m'Lord. I can tell him."
"My mother makes a fine mess of many things as we all have come to find out.." Isolde offers a warm smile to Jarod and if allowed, her hand comes to rest on his arm lightly. A gentle squeeze given. She nods to him and steps back, watching the two Naylands a moment. A faint laugh is kept behind her lips and in her throat. The Lady moves back closer to Ryker, he had requested her presence. With some rumors put to rest, it feels a bit more comfortable, versus tense.
"Hah!" Ryker's counter-gibe clearly takes the younger Nayland by surprise, eliciting a quick, sharp yip of laughter. He grins back, and for a moment the family resemblance is striking. "Quite likely." He releases his firm grip on his elder brother's hand. "What else was the old man going to do with me, eh? I was a bit scrawny as a youth." Oh, yes. Clearly his scrawny days are behind him. He smirks. "So, you know. Send the Roost a useless squire. Sort of a friendly gesture wrapped in a 'fuck you.' Or maybe the other way around." He hands Jarod a parchment envelope, sealed in red wax. "Oi, b'fore I forget. This was in the saddlebags." Written on the front in flowing script is Ser Jarod Rivers.
Ryker only nods a curt thanks to Jarod. He doesn't seem much in the mood to speak to the knight again right now. His gaze then slides to Isolde and he gives her a slow nod. "I know she is your mother, m'Lady, but sometimes I feel that she should just quit meddling and go back to wherever it was that placed that blackness in her heart. I've grown tired of her already." The man almost bristles. He very clearly does not like Valda. At all. But looking back to Rowan has him smiling again. "Should have sent you to Riverrun. I think you would have quite enjoyed it there. There are a lot of opportunities to be had there. Besides, the training is top tier. Countless opportunities to excell. It would have been my pleasure to house you. We had several knights that actually wanted a squire to boss around. I trust your knight abuses you properly? Makes you hate him with proper force?" He claps his hand to Rowan's shoulder with a grin.
"Rowan hates and fears me, yes," Jarod does reply wryly to Ryker's words to his squire. "And you'll get a chance to see what sort of training I'm giving him at the Roost, m'Lord, make no mistake on it. For my part I think he's coming along most well, but you never know until you get a chance to take the field. I expect he'll make a better accounting of himself than anyone expects in the squire's tourney, however." He makes no particular move to stop Isolde from touching his arm, though it doesn't make his face any less red. He barks a short chuckle. "Well, that's Lady Valda, for you. And we'd best stop mentioning her name, lest she appear like one of those phantom creatures that are said to haunt the North. And eat our souls. Or something. Thank you, Rowan." He's happy to take the parchment. Reading it gives him an excuse not to look at anyone.
Hurrying up to the gathered nobles from the direction of the town is a boy in the livery of the Naylands. Coming to a stop and taking one breath of time to compose himself, the page voices to Ryker, "My Lord?" sketching a bow from the waist should the nobles turn eye toward him. If given leave to rise, he will do so, if not, his message will be spoken while holding the bow. "Word for you, and the Lady Isolde, from your cousin: your presence is requested at the upstream landing. A guest of high import is arriving, shortly."
With some ease now about them, Isolde has room to smile and she watches Rowan with a grin. It is the page that brings word that draws her about. Skirts shift at her legs and she furrows her brows. "It seems that this ..was unexpected." She gives Ryker a look, a questioning one at least to see if he might have some suspicions. The Lady does but she doesn't speak them. Instead she nods her head and grabs at her skirts. "Lead us on then. We shall follow.." It might take a bit to get there unless they go by horse.
Rowan snrrks, nodding amiably. "He beats and berates me regular, like a good knight. Often forgets to feed me, or leaves me to suffocate beneath piles of luggage." Jarod is given a long, dessicated look. After a beat or two, the squire addresses his brother again, smiling. "But truly, I — " Then the messenger boy arrives, and that thought's gone out the window. "Oi! Well. Maybe it'll be Good King Bob." He grins again, offering to Ryker, "Our sister writes that he's splendidly jolly and entertaining, our king."
"Glad to hear Rowan has found his time with you difficult, Ser Jarod. I have yet to meet a proper knight who hasn't wanted to rise up more than once. But I suspect him and I will come to blows one day as brothers often do." Rykers words are fond, though. "Aye. The less we speak of her, the less my blood might color my own vision. Though your connection is not exactly poor. Someone must check to see if she has been replaced recently." The joke is made with another flat bit of speech. But when the boy arrives, Ryker motions for him to rise. The message seems to surprise him, though. There is a glance to Jarod, then. "Inform your House? I would not mind the Terricks to accompany us to greet this guest." A look back to Rowan and Ryker smirks. "Tell your sister I say hello and make no mention of my greetings to Rickart should he ask. I am pleased to hear she is well despite what has happened. Now, I must attend. We'll speak more later, Rowan. Its good to see you've started a journey you enjoy." A dip of his head and he steps off.
Jarod is grinning, quite a lot, as he reads the contents of his message. He sort of loses track of what's going on around him again. "Eh? Somebody arriving" He blinks up. Slipping the parchment into his tunic pocket and looking side-long to Rowan. "I've some questions about his later, squire." But that can wait. Now that his mind is on what is actually transpiring, he's as curious as any of them. "Aye. I'll see if I can scare up my fair lord brother. A moment, if you will." And off he goes toward their tents to see if he can retrieve Jaremy. To greet the whoever-it-is.
Rowan shrugs. "Was all sort of crushed up in the bottom of the bags," he says of the missive. "Figure it must've been there since I packed up to leave." He watches Jarod depart to fetch the Young Lord Terrick, clapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly as he turns back to his brother and Isolde. "Mystery guest! Quite exciting."
Jarod returns with Jaremy in not too terribly long, leading his brother on after the others to…whoever they're meeting. He answers any questions Jaremy poses with a shrug. He dunno what's happening.
Jaremy has clearly settled into a relaxed state after the rather tense introduction with House Tordane, perhaps it's due to the mug of strawberry summerwine he imbibed shortly thereafter. Either way, he's out of his armor and he's wearing a peace tied sword at his hip, being led back towards the group by his brother. "What's this about?" He asks, stepping in cadence behind his slightly larger bastard brother.
Summoned to the riverfront for an arrival amongst a growing press of humanity drawn in the same direction by some spectacle, it will fall to the rougher among the noble entourage to call for the commoners to clear the way. Just before the water is in sight, a steady sound can be heard above the hubbub of voices: the rhythmic beat of a rowing drum. As the river comes into view, with it is spied the tall mast of a light galley striking upriver. With its two dozen oars moving smoothly in time, the warship commands the scene en route to the landing to which the page leads this company. Trailing from stern of the galley is an overlarge indigo banner blazoned with the silver eagle of the Mallisters. Standing at the prow of the ship, in shining silver armor is the proud, red haired presence any local noble would recognize as Lord Jason Mallister.
Having left the Terrick camp with Ryker, the milling group is not hard to make out and she tilts her head, lifting her chin to see. The steady thrum of the cadence carries far enough and she narrows her gaze. Isolde lets out a breath and casts a look upwards to see Jaremy arriving with Jarod, green eyes lingering. She turns her head away and shifts at Ryker's side, catching sight of some of the colors, "Mallister…I had no idea they were going to make a showing."
Ryker arrives at the water's edge and he does his best to contain his surprise. "Well then!" he says more to himself out loud. Eyes are locked on the banner before shifting to Lord Jason up front. With Isolde's comment, he leans to the side. "I had no idea, either. Shall we blame this on your mother as well?" Its all muttered before he stands tall once more, hands clasping behind his back.
Jarod shrugs his shoulders at Jaremy's question, answering it with another "Dunno. Messenger just said honored guests, brother, and it seemed proper to have a Terrick to greet them. I suppose we'll…ah." And there it is, then. Mallisters. He looks not entirely surprised, but pleased, at this for his part.
After a bit of hopping up and down to see over the crowd, Rowan mutters and climbs up a waterspout onto an awning, nimble as any skinny monkey. His dark eyes go wide at the sight of the warship and the gleaming presence at its prow. "Oi!" He grins wide. "Now that is a fucking entrance!"
"Yes…the Mallisters." Jaremy says, eyes falling onto the banners and the war galley. "They do know how to make an entrance, you're very right, Rowan." Jaremy says, eyes darkening at the sight. Quietly, Jaremy leans closer to Jarod and Rowan. "This tourney just got more interesting." He leans back, eyes shifting to see Ryker and Isolde. With nothing he can say, he turns his gaze back to the incoming galley, stepping into a more proper position to be the first to receive them.
A slight, dark haired Nys sits on the crossbeam of a short fence, or perhaps that's meant to be storage for weapons. It could be a horse tie, or maybe the beginnings of a simple stall that was never quite erected. Her clothing is that of a young boy, and her build hardly detracts from the suggestion, for those who've never met her. She carries a small bouquet of recently collected wildflowers across her lap. Her eyes, of course, are on the arriving procession, and the banners fluttering aloft. She kicks a foot up onto the beam, perch precarious but apparently stable enough for a casual slouch.
Jaremy will not be the first to greet them as Valda moves in from the side. These are her lands and she is the host. Her gaze drifts back to Isolde who immediately lets out a sigh, "Shall we linger back and be a thorn in her side or shall we step forward?" SHe asks Ryker at her side. The Lady hmphs to herself as Valda motions over a few attendants at the ready to receive and aid any of Mallister's men. "See to it that all is taken care of. Several positions in the field have been left open just in case we had surprise guests." She smiles, her lips curving up into that practiced position.
'Oh Hell. Its Her.' Its becoming a common thing to flash in Ryker's mind. His mood darkens but he forces a smile. "I suppose we should play the part. Let's do this fast, lest we catch whatever it was she has become infected with." Its all grumbled to her low enough that its doubtful anyone else would hear. He motions her forward. "Lady of Stonebridge first." Stepping past Jaremy, he glances at the man but does little more than give an apologetic smile.
The galleys oars strike once more before being raised in time, and the long vessel glides toward the landing. Deckhands stand by to catch the lines thrown from the crew of the galley, mooring the warship in short order. The first of the passengers to disembark is Lord Jason himself, followed closely by a young boy of perhaps eight, richly dressed. Third to step off is an armored knight, bearing aloft an indigo pennant on a tall spear. Doubling as bodyguard and herald, the knight calls, "Now comes Lord Ser Jason Mallister! Lord of Seagard, Defender of the Western Shores, and First Guardian of the Riverlands!"
With lordly comportment, Jason Mallister steps to greet his hostess at the landing. "Lady Tordane," he voices, "May I present my son and heir, Patrek," the Lord notes, indicating the boy who had closely followed him. Red of hair as his father, the little lord offers a perfect bow from the waist, before the others approach.
"The Mallisters like to make their presence known," Jarod says, wryly, though not without a fond humor in his tone. He did serve his squire years with the Mallisters, after all, and he's always held the men he served with there in good account. Besides, it's not like Ser Rivers himself has any particular fondness for the subtle. "And they usually succeed." He sticks close to Jaremy, albeit behind him. The young lord can play family greeter, as befits him. He'll happily bow and play lookey-loo.
It's as if Jaremy's life has become a bad dream, where every step he takes suddenly has a Nayland or Valda Tordane herself shuffling into place. Even Ryker steps past Jaremy, causing the young lord to turn and watch the man step past. His brow tilts at the edge for merely a second, a moment where unkind words are desired but not given. Instead, Ser Jaremy glances back to Jarod and Rowan as he settles into line, ready to greet the incoming lord who made himself famous fighting alongside Robert Baratheon. Swallowing, Jaremy rests his wrist over his peace-tied sword and waits his turn.
Rowan hops down from the awning and straightens his tabard, rolling down his sleeves and attempting to finger-comb the mop of his hair. If Jarod's going to do the bowing thing, so is he. One would think he amuses himself by attempting to echo his knight's bows and flourishes with absolute precision, a squire-shadow. And one would be absolutely correct.
"My Lord Mallister, it is a great pleasure." Valda says with a deep dip, her skirts pooling as Isolde is moving through the crowd, brushing past Jaremy with a faint sideways glance. She dips up just to the side and behind her mother, dipping low as do all the sworn of Tordane. "And Young Lord Patrek, you honor us, both of you." SHe smiles, her teeth showing and it seems she might actually meet it. "Lord Mallister, this is my daughter and Lady of Stonebridge, Isolde." Isolde rises then and dips her head to each, "My Lords, welcome to Stonebridge. I do hope you will find favor wih the Seven if you compete. We are able to help you settle if you have need." She offers politely.
"We do have attendants to see to your goods.." Valda motions with her hand and the sworn move towards the ship to help unload. "There are several spots on the higher ground for my Lord. We will show your servants there so they may prepare for you."
Nys drags a bright red flower under her nose to test the scent, and she murmurs against the petals, "I pray the ser's step is sure." Her eyes are on the armored knight disembarking the vessel yonder. "Don't think there's a one of us could make it to his rescue, should he splash and sink, at least not before the bubbles ceased their dance to the water's—" Her musings are cut off by an abrupt and sudden sneeze. "Not that one them." She tosses the red flower over her shoulder, and pats around her person for a slip of cloth to wipe her offended nose.
Ryker watches all this in silence. Jaremy moves back. Jason Mallister arrives with his heir. He silently wonders when Stonebridge became such a swanky town. Outwardly he dips forward, bowing deeply to the man but makes no move to introduce himself.
Jason Mallister offers a short bow of the head and shoulders to Valda as befits a knight greetinga noble lady of lesser standing, repeating the gesture to Isolde. The Young Lord Patrek bows deeply from the waist to Isolde, falling short of perfect composure by keeping his eyes on Isolde for a moment as he bows. An unmistakably fond smile goes from father to son at the boys manners, before Jason again speaks to the Tordanes. "I shall thank my ladies for the courtesy. See it done," he voices to his escorts without a backward look. It is done. "Will my Lady introduce those of her guests?" the Lord Mallister invites, looking toward the next in line and not knowing Ryker's face by sight.
Once again, Ser Jaremy's eyes shift to the side, glancing to Ser Jarod and his squire, Rowan, while Valda allows the Naylands to be the next in line for introductions. It's to be expected, of course, but it's also a very subtle insult to House Terrick, one that does not go unnoticed to the young lord.
"Yes of course, my Lord." She says. Valda steps back and to the side as she motions to Ryker. "Young Lord Ryker Nayland, heir to Rickart Nayland." She pauses for them to acquaint and continues on, "Lord Rygar Nayland, newphew to the Lord Nayland." On a few more Naylands go and then she takes sight of Jaremy and his gathered. She clears her throat and says still with a faint smile. "Yound Lord Jaremy Terrick and Ser Jarod Rivers of Terrick's Roost to the west m'lord. Lord Rowan Nayland, Ser Jarod's squire." She is at ease but it seems she may just have very well introduced them far faster than the others. The Lady hesitates and then continues to some Brackens and Blackwoods.
Ryker dips his body once again forward at the greeting to Jason. "M'Lord," he greets. But he says nothing else to the man unless addressed.
Jason Mallister is not an overly tall man, despite his impressive reputation as a warrior, and the Lord of Seagard must turn his eye slightly up to regard Ryker, and further up to note Rygar. To the first, he states, "Young Lord. It is is good to become acquainted with you." Polite, but brief. When faced with the stern regard of Rygar, Jason's manner cools noticeably. "Ser," he notes, simply. "Ser," Rygar returns with matching frosty politeness. Jaremy being next in line is met with a warmer, "My Young Lord Terrick. Shall your good father be joining these festivities?" But a proper smile touches his composure when faced with Jarod. "My bold Ser Rivers, who fought beneath my banners at the Trident." Was that a sharp sidelong glance back at Rygar? Jason's eye goes to his son, noting, "Patrek, this young man earned his knightly spurs fighting for Good King Robert." Patrek offers a bow to the bastard of Terrick at the introduction.
Proud? Rowan is SO proud. That's totally his knight Jason Mallister is praising. The youngest Nayland beams, just grinning like a simpleton, hands clasped behind his back.
As he is introduced, Ser Jaremy lowers himself into a bow for Jason Mallister and his son, liege lords to the Terricks. His bow is a quiet, respectful one, giving due respect to his liege. "My Lord…" Jaremy rises, offering both Lord Mallister and Ser Patrek a warm smile. "…my Lord Father will be arriving on the morn, ready for the next day's festivities and the joust." Jaremy replies, nodding softly and offering Jarod a look of pride at Lord Mallister's praise.
Jarod bows as well, a flourishing gesture and one of true respect. Not unlike that he offered to Isolde earlier, come to it. Though he shows no small amount of surprise as he straightens up, chuckling. "I'm not so sure how bold I was then, Lord Mallister. Ser Vernon was the proper sword for you. I just carried his spare flask and shield. But I thank you for the words. It does me an honor." *re*
As Lord Mallister moves down the line, leaving the Naylands to be and centering on one of his sworn houses, Valda remains. She does deploy her stock of servants to aid his own she remains, Isolde hanging back as she smiles. Her father had died for this man and the king now. To see the Terrick's receive such attention warms her and she touches the item hidden away in the pocket of her skirts. She feels the cold setting that Naylands offer, Mallister is not their Lord, he is a Lord, but not their's. Frey has not shown yet and most likely will not. Their's is commerce not blades.
Lord Jason nods to Jerold's answer, "Excellent. I shall seek him on the morrow, then," that to Jaremy. "Humility is a most knightly virtue, ser." That to Jarod. "Young Lord. Ser. Squire," with those three words, Jason Mallister has moved past the Terrick and Terrick-attendants. For all his good manners, Patrek Mallister is still only a boy, and so, when his father moves on to continue the greetings of the assembled nobles, his son and heir lingers a moment and speaks to Rowan: "Soon I'm to be a squire, too." With a boyish grin the young man hurries along to greet the Blackwoods who are next.
Rowan flourishes a bow in Jarod's wake, though it lacks not an iota of sincerity for all its obvious mirroring. He looks positively star struck, and practically swoons like a maiden as the Lord acknowledges him. The Young Lord Patrek's words make him grin, and he tells the boy, "It's fantastic! Just beat the snot out of anybody who says you're getting special treatment 'cause of who your father is." He nods. "Oh. And work hard. That helps, too."
Nys lingers over the various flowers she's collected, fingers deftly sorting stems and petals, but her gaze, and most of her attention, is on the collection of lords and knights. She remains just removed from the action, out of the immediate attention of those armed and titled.
Jaremy turns to watch Lord Mallister step down the line, waiting for Patrek to follow him. At Rowan's words, his eyes widen slightly, tilting in their sockets towards his brother. Wow. Hoo-dang. Jaremy clears his throat and turns his back to Ryker, gazing over Jarod's shoulder to spy a smallfolk with flowers all about. Watching her closely, he can't help but smile at the sheer simplicity of her moment versus his. If only his life could be so…simple.
Jarod turns to offer Rowan a quick grin and generally approving elbow-to-arm. Though at the look from his brother he clears his throat and says, "Now, now, Rowan. Now, now. What will they think I'm teaching you?" As scoldings go, it's not particularly firm. Then again, it's probably a very accurate example of what Jarod is teaching him.
Not wishing to stay any longer, both because of several Nayland nobles and her mother, Isolde looks up to Ryker. "Lord Ryker, will you see me to the stables again? I would like to check in on Tourmaline and see if she is accepting her new stall." But perhaps even more of her discomfort is the fact she is no longer a part of the Terrick sworn. That much is made apparent by where she stands.
With the Mallister procession moving on, those at the head of the line- the Naylands and Terricks are left to their own devices while retainers in the indigo doublets and stitched silver eagles of the Mallisters go about unloading his Lordship's baggage.
Ser Ryker tilts his head a bit Isolde's address, but actually looks to her face when she finishes. The look in her eyes is noted and he looks about. "Yes, m'Lady." What Isolde wants, Isolde gets. He gestures forward with his arm while he mutters something to the swarm to make a hole. "Thanks for asking." Awkward.
Playing his part, chastised and rebuked, Rowan hangs his head in elaborate shame. For about two seconds. Then he's snickering and elbowing Jarod back. His dark eyes lift at Isolde's words, however. The gaze that follows the Young Lady Tordane is sympathetic and full of concern.
Jarod turns his eyes from the Mallister procession, watching Isolde as she moves off. He shifts as if half-tempted to follow. But he doesn't. A look is shifted to his brother.
Though Jaremy doesn't turn to watch Isolde, he hears Ryker's words, and thus the looks on Rowan's and Jarod's faces are well expected. He doesn't turn to follow. Instead, his head ticks slightly to one side, a half-shake of his head. No…Jaremy will show hesitation. Instead, he moves to the side, moving to lean against the wall near where the girl with the flowers stands.
Her assigned sworn falls in behind the two as her back is given to the gathered nobles. She takes up her skirts and shifts and takes the forefront first to break the crowd and then waits for Ryker when the path is wider. She looks up at him and gives him a faint smile. His thanks is nodded to and she lets out a breath. "At least that is over.." She says softly as Valda watches them, a satisified grin upon her lips and her gaze given to Rygar for a moment before breaking away to see to the preparations for the Mallister.
From a grassy knoll, the Whore of Terricks Roost was able to watch most of that take place. Just close enough to see facial expressions. Barely. But words, especially quiet ones, were lost to her. She lifts her skirts and slowly makes her way down towards the fence where Jaremy has moved to. "M'Lord," she greets. This is public and there are important people here. She is also dressed for more modestly in a dress that covers her from neck to toe, despite the heat. She dips her head to him. "That did not look pleasant." There's definite concern there.
Nys glances up from plucking the petals from a bundle of flowers as the steel slowly thins, and various folk go their separate ways. She tucks the petals into small cloth pouch, fingers working without pause to decimate the flowers she's collected. She throws her leg the fence beam she's perched on, and settles on a wider flat. It's easier on the hindquarters. It's then that her gaze lands on Jaremy, who's moved much closer than the rest. She inclines her head in polite deference, though that could be an easy excuse for her to visually check him for weapons. Her gaze soon flicks to Amelia as the whore approaches, and she offers the other woman a smile in greeting.
Jaremy offers a quiet smile to the flower girl, accompanied by a nod. Taking quiet interest in the colored flowers the girl has collected, his attention is drawn away by the approaching swish of skirts and the familiar face of Amelia. Cleared for her alleged crimes, there's only slight controversy in so close a conversation. Quietly, he scoffs to the woman, head nodding softly. "This has not been a pleasant day, not in the least for me, Amelia." He speaks quietly. "Though it appears to have been decent for you. How are you faring? Are my observations incorrect?"
Amelia smiles to Nys. "Miss Perla. So good to see you again." There is a genuine warmth to it and even a bit of a lift to her skirts as if she's approaching nobility when seeing her. Its a kind little gesture that the whore often makes. Especially to children — even when mommy and daddy tell her to back off. She then looks for Jaremy and sighs, hands clasping and resting on the fence between them. "I thought it might be hard for you, m'Lord. I didn't expect to see such sadness, though." His question to her gets a gentle shrug and a turn down of her eyes. "Fair correct, yes. Though I find my mood more controlled by my concern for you. Is there anything I can do?" Some may snicker, but that was certainly not worded like a proposition. The two can occasionally be seen talking quietly but Amelia has never been seen to take money from him or lead him anyplace.
The greeting offered by Amelia serves to brighten Nys' smile. She inclines her head briefly, and tosses bald stem to the ground. A small pile of them has built up behind her perch. She's quiet as the two exchange words, though she does slip in a soft, "Always a pleasure, Miss." There's some amusement in the tone, perhaps a tease for those listening who might be inclined to assign duel meaning to her words.
Jaremy's eyes lift at Amelia's offer, but he shakes his head, declining. "No, there's nothing, not at this time. The joust begins tomorrow, and soon I should head back to the tents to finish my studies and sleep. I intend to twin the day." The edge of his lip tugs in a barely evident smirk, eyes turning momentarily to Amelia's. Sadness indeed, though he'd never admit it. "Tomorrow will be a different story."
Jaremy turns his gaze back forward, catching the falling of a bald step from Nys' direction. His head slowly turns, catching the stem in the grass. His eyes squint, trying to place the girl, having yet to meet her. "You two are acquainted?"
Amelia hears the return phrasing from Nys and gives the other woman a knowing smile. She can have some humor about it. But her eyes flit back to Jaremy and she bows her head slightly. "Yes, m'Lord. My bets are already placed on you. But tomorrow evening I will see about getting a few things. I should have cash for trade after this evening. I don't have to tell the innkeeper. I will purchase a bottle of something tasteful for you." Its said quietly before looking back to Nys. "But of course, Ser Jaremy. She sells wares I have good use for. I may know a thing or two about what she does, but I am not her. She is quite skilled. I can recommend Miss Perla with pride."
Nys' attention turns from Amelia to Jaremy and back. "You are very kind, miss." She mms and asks, "He's worth betting on, is he?" She flashes a rare toothy grin to the young man leaned against the fence. "Ser, it is an honor to meet you. Perhaps you met my father, who traveled before me. Perla was well known between Hag's Mire and Terrick's Roost before his injury put a cork in him." And uncorked a spectacularly gargantuan drinking habit, too. "Have you any complaints this eve', ser?" She nods to Amelia, "Or you, miss?"
"Well, depending on how many lances get broken against me tomorrow I'll likely be needing far more than a bottle of something strong, but I will appreciate it all as well, Amelia." Jaremy replies quietly, nodding towards the empty air between the two women. Though he's no loss for words, the quieted knight seems focused on other things in his mind. "It's an honor to meet you as well, Miss Perla. I didn't think we'd met but I'd met your father briefly a few times as he was conducting business with our maester. He spoke highly of some of your treatments." Another quiet smile. "Perhaps after having so many lances broken over me tomorrow I'll need both of your bottles."
"I'm only as kind as is deserved, Miss Perla. Trust me, I wouldn't be so quick to smile if I were heartily dissatisfied." Amelia smiles easily with the words. Listening to Jaremy, though, she laughs gently and lofts her brow. "I suspect, m'Lord, that you are right. Well, I will come by your tent on the morrow and see about what I can do to ease the pain. For tonight, Ser Jarod has requested that I join him for a night of relaxation. I should make my way to him." She takes a long breath and tilts her head as she looks at Jaremy. "Sometimes I hate that you make me worry and fuss over you. May your studies and sleep find you easily tonight, Jaremy." Its said quietly enough that its just for his ears alone. A glance to Nys. "Miss Perla. Good evening." She steps away, lifting her skirts, and moves off to find the tournament field and the tents.
Nys inclines her head to Amelia as the woman takes her leave, busy fingers finishing off the second to last of the blooming flowers in her lap. She drops the stem and begins on the last. "A warm and pleasant evening to you." Nys sneaks a flower petal into her mouth, then reaches down to dip her fingers under the leather vest she wears. It's not particularly tight, but she must wear something under it, because she fishes out a small clay vial stoppered with wax. "If you find yourself in need, ser, add this to a warmed wine to steep." She offers that to Jaremy. "If you find it too bitter, I have a sweeter mix, but the effect is somewhat soporific."
Jaremy takes the vial, wordlessly pausing to watch Amelia walk off in direction of the tents. Once Amelia is far enough out of sight, he lifts the vial to dangle before his eyes in the direction of the moon. He gives the vial a little shake before he slips it into his vest. "I'll keep this in mind, Perla. If you're going to be observing the events, if you see one of Terrick's men injured in any of the events, make your way to our tents and offer your services. I doubt they'll be turned away." He pushes off the wall, offering Nys a few copper for the vial. "Good evening to you, and do enjoy the joust tomorrow."
"I would be honored, ser." Nys nods, and waves off the payment with a smile. "A taste, if you'd tell me if you find it pleasant. I fear my palate isn't as refined as yours may be. Please, tell me your thoughts on its general potency?" Free samples to the lordly guinea pigs and all. "A pleasant evening to you. I look forward to seeing your lance at work." If not for the absolute sincerity of her words, one might question their meaning.
"I won't be drinking tonight, but you'll know well if I do, pending the amount of punishment in store for me." Jaremy replies, a dark smile on his lips as he steps away, nodding his head in exit to the young woman. He does, however, tilt his head at the slight awkward wording of her goodbye. He turns his head, glancing to her over his shoulder, before he too follows Amelia towards the tents. The difference, of course, is that he would be going to his tent…alone.