| Log Title |
| Summary: | Ceinlys spends some time with Aeron, and Eryk returns home. |
| Date: | 30-Jan-2013 |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Garden Terraces — Broadmoor |
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| The terraced gardens of the Keep wrap around its southeastern side, travelling downward in beautifully-tended steppes toward the expanse of the green below. Statues and topiary decorate the lawns and line the neat pathways, with several balconied plateaus from which to enjoy the breathtaking view of the neighbouring lake and moor, from which the holding takes its name. |
| January 30th, 290 A.L |
While celebrations are a fantastic thing, the days following always seem only half-hearted in comparison; lazy and wasted, for the most part. For once, the Steward of Broadmoor doesn't seem to be an exception to this rule, as a sunlit afternoon finds her out in the gardens enjoying a little respite. Well, in her own way. The young lady yet has parchments in hand, but at least she reads them from a comfortable seat; a blanket spread on the ground and a few of her ladies in attendance, chattering back and forth amongst themselves as they savor the rare opportunity to be out of doors and relaxing. Ceinlys herself doesn't join the discussion much, save for an occasional upward flit of her gaze and a half-smile if she catches anything of particular interest or amusement.
Mostly, though, the girls are merely discussing who the most handsome nobleman was, at the feast. Fascinating.
With a sigh, the young lady lowers the parchments slowly to one side, allowing her gaze to wander her surroundings, to drift toward the horizon. Something certainly has her deep in thought, today. Though that's far from an unusual expression to be found upon her features.
Aeron dislikes being outside. One might say it's in his nature. Though he doesn't often chance to look at particuarly nice scenery lately. It might've been mentioned previously that looking at floodplains can get…tiresome. As Sabriel wasn't thinking about leaving right away, wanting time with her family, Aeron wasn't in any hurry to get himself, even if he doesn't exactly consider Stonebridge 'home'. So, considering that, they stayed. Well, that and he has a book out on loan he can't exactly leave without. Save for the errant retainer or two moving about, the Flint-infused Nayland finds himself alone, which really, is usually the way he prefers things. Him and his thoughts, whatever they might be. Back facing the doorway, he's since been focused on the view of the lake moors in the distance, just…staring off. There's something errie about the way he stands. So silent and still, as if a slight breeze might wash away his image from that very spot. Or had he always been there? Or had he, like some other times in his visit to Broadmoor, simply materialized into that particular place. He is a rather quiet one, coming and going with hardly anyone noticing his presence.
Just the way he likes it.
Maybe it's the shared perusal of lands in the distance, but something prompts Ceinlys to glance back toward the Keep.. and there her eyes find the statuesque Nayland, enjoying his own company as usual. Tilting her head a little, the young woman regards him thoughtfully, long enough that her attendants quiet and follow her gaze uncertainly. One of them blushes utterly scarlet. Presumably even caressing the walls hasn't prevented the young Lord from being noted and admired from afar. Having been so brazen about his comeliness mere moments ago, the girl now bows her head studiously over her embroidery and - to put it simply - shuts up.
"Lord Aeron." The greeting is raised enough to be audible, in tone, while not shouting across the garden toward him. To have bothered at all is plainly an invitation from the Steward, though she doesn't bother rising from her comfortable spot, legs tucked up to one side. Her servants, of course, prepare to heft to their feet, should the out-of-place wraith deign to approach, that they might offer obligatory curtsies.
If there any kind of recognition in Aeron, it takes a moment. Maybe to finish the current thought he was having, and after that moment there is slight partial turn of the head, acknowleding the fact, yes, he did indeed hear her. "Lady Ceinlys." he replies, turning about. There's something very subtle about his movements, as if each movement of a muscle is carefully thought over and examined before it actually happens. A mindset of a ranger perhaps, conservation of movement, and less is better. It doesn't help that his steps make almost no noise, along with how his clothes are constructed and arranged, there isn't that natural sound of shuffling. In a word, he very much is as wraith-like as suggested. Introvert he might be, but he's not the rude kind to just shrug someone off, so on over he goes, coming to a stop an appropriate distance away. "Good afternoon. What can I do for you?"
After the younger girls have performed their curtsies, a few are waved away to make further room and a less ogling atmosphere for conversation. They retreat toward the Keep, waiting until they're a safe distance away before beginning to murmur and giggle together. "I have need of nothing in particular, m'lord," replies Ceinlys, shading her eyes with one hand as she squints up at the sunlit silhouette and offers a half-smile. "..save perhaps company to distract me from matters that threaten to spin my head clear from my shoulders." A gesture then toward her discarded paperwork. "Would you indulge me? I should rather like to hear more of your travels in the North, if you would care to speak of them."
There's a selection of food and a pitcher of wine waiting ready, and the Steward's own handmaiden directs a subtle nod toward them, perhaps to further entreat the nobleman if he's hesitant.
After the younger girls have performed their curtsies, a few are waved away to make further room and a less ogling atmosphere for conversation. They retreat toward the Keep, waiting until they're a safe distance away before beginning to murmur and giggle together. "I have need of nothing in particular, m'lord," replies Ceinlys, shading her eyes with one hand as she squints up at the sunlit silhouette and offers a half-smile. "..save perhaps company to distract me from matters that threaten to spin my head clear from my shoulders." A gesture then toward her discarded paperwork. "Would you indulge me? I should rather like to hear more of your travels in the North, if you would care to speak of them."
There's a selection of food and a pitcher of wine waiting ready, and the Steward's own handmaiden directs a subtle nod toward them, perhaps to further entreat the nobleman if he's hesitant.
There's a glance at the indicated paperwork, Aeron giving a silent 'ah' expression, understanding. "I can't say I envy you the. I'm fairly certain that I won't have that kind of honor for some time, if ever. My brother seems destined for that role. The old 'heir and the spare' addage." And guess which one he is. The younger girls seem to have little effect, beyond on an understand that women will gossip about boys, though not like he'd do the same about women. Well, first you need close male friends. "But I could offer you a welcome distraction since you're seeking one." It's upon the subject of his 'homeland' that does seem to get slightly more animated, as if being in the Riverlands has somehow muted his disposition. "I could tell more than a few things. Living in on the slopes of the Mountains, the way people act and talk, the landscape, the feasts I've been lucky to be apart of on the times to Winterfell, how the Norther houses view their more southern brethens. Eighteen years in all there, I wouldn't know where to begin, really."
Leaning back on his heels, he ponders. "The northern houses found me…odd when I first arrived. My main saving grace was the fact that my mother was a Flint by birth and she had demanded it of my father that at least one of her sons foster where had, to 'embrace the blood of the North', as she would say. I didn't quite understand what that meant when I was a boy, but time has changed that particular outlook. As I was saying, many members of the houses had never met a Riverlander before and honestly, I doubt they had even hear of Nayland before my arrival." There's a pause. "They thought me too soft, and some thought that my mother sending me there, she would only receive a dead son in return. And were it not for my grandmother Shada, that's likely to of been the case. No, life was hard, but it was rewarding. At times, I think it was harder on me on purpose, some wanted to see if I could 'cut it' there. They may not of said outloud that they thought Riverlanders, little more than nobilized farmers governing more farmers, would be able to survive in the Mountains and, for a time, I think my presence was sometimes an offense to their particular way of life." There's a small grin to that. "And now you might understand that my visit here and to Highfield were not the first instances of being in places where one is…tolerated." Self-depreciating humor; Aeron knows it.
For her part, Ceinlys listens with interest not just borne of good manners; her blue eyes seem genuinely alert as she follows the man's explanation, though they do lower long enough for her to take up her goblet for a small sip. Rather than wine, today it's ice milk with honey.. though the ice is swiftly departing in the midday heat. Licking her lips free of any trace, she nods, perhaps a touch ruefully , in response to that moment of wry humor from Aeron. "Your name, I fear, has you considered guilty by association. My father has little love for the Naylands of Stonebridge, and the late Lord Aleister had even less than that. The Flints, however, have ever been respected allies in the opinions of both - and myself." It's not an apology. Ceinlys doesn't do apologies. But it's a gentle explanation and that's more than many would have received. "Would you care to sit?" As she shades her eyes again, it likely betrays that the notion is less to do with his comfort and rather her own.
"Do you prefer it there, now? Having looked at the Riverlands through their perspective rather than being raised within it?" Tilting her head a little askance, she adds, "Your mother is a sensible woman, to have known how beneficial such an education would be." Pushing a wayward strand of dark hair out of her eyes, the Steward falls silent once more. Not an easy woman to read, exactly.
"Oh, I know my house's reputation preceeds my own. It's…frustating at best. I was not personally here when madness that happened did. I was watching my late wife slowly succumb to illness." A pause is given that. "I only walked into what had happened and truthfully, my family was not around for it. Mmm, perhaps my elder brother was, but I don't believe he had any part in it either. My parents were to the south with the Goodbrooks when news arrived that my sister's second child had been stillborn. But I will say this much; I have no love for my cousin's. Frankly, Riordan and Rafferdy both should be on the Wall, but that might be disrespecting the Wall, however my Uncle doesn't hav-" he cuts himself off there, merging it only into a thin smile. "Whatever has passed, has passed. I could say that it's better to move forward and repair what has been damaged, as that only seems the practical thing to do and I hope, with time, that it does. I would only ask to the people that see me, judge me not for the things others have commited. It may be too much to ask for some, but it is the only thing I have ever requested of anyone."
Another moment pauses, and another bout of consideration until he does sit, if perhaps to be more on eye level with her. "That is an intersting question. I see things through two sets of eyes. One is where I was raised, how I was raised, and who it was done by. And the other is the fragmented memories I have the Riverlands as a boy. Would I say I'm more Northman than Riverlander? Possibly, yes. There are things that happen here that I wonder why they happen at all. Or how it came to happen in the first place, but perhaps that's because in the North, priorities are far different. There is a different mindset. As I've said before, survival always took precedent over anything else. If you could not survive, then you were a liability, on both the people that relied on you, and on resources. And the enviroment has a way of weeding out the weak." Any compliment of his mother Aeron approves of. "She moves in her own ways. Most don't understand them, so people think up labels to rationalize it away. But do I prefer it here? I haven't yet decided. I have watched how these houses, my own included, conduct and act between each other and I can't say I'm exactly convinced, with the possible exception of the Haighs. And only because they have acted in a rather fair manner in my short interactions. In the end, I haven't made any kind of judgments, though, not like my opinions would mean much anyways." The wry grin appears again. "And what about you? Do you prefer it here or, if given the chance, go elsewhere?"
"..doesn't have the stones to see it done..?" Ceinlys suggests, as an end to that unfinished statement, arching a single brow. Maybe she agrees, or maybe she just finds it amusing that a Nayland could see their kin as anything other than the epitome of all that is wise and good. They've been anything but, of late. The mention of Rafferdy elicits a momentary souring of her expression - after all, it was he who tarnished the reputation of her cousin so woefully and who then risked her former Lord's neck over it in the subsequent trial. The woman has every reason to think poorly of the wretched little creature.
Absently pulling at a section of her skirts as Aeron seats himself, politely making show of clearing the way for him to sit without any risk of improper proximity to the Steward, she considers his comparisons of the Riverlands and the North, musing to herself for a long few beats. "I imagine some might argue that their politicking and intrigues here are all a matter of survival, only of a different sort." Her lips twist in a momentary smirk as she regards the Nayland, likely looking for his reaction to such words. This is a novelty, after all.. Ceinlys conversing pleasantly with anyone is, let alone a Nayland. "Of course, here when they say survival, they mean enough coin to keep them in gems and silks. While in the North, I expect they mean very simply heat, food and shelter." She ventures a soft chuckle. "Our affairs must seem trite, by comparison."
Aeron's further enquiries of her, rather than offend, appear to entertain the young noblewoman and she gives them at least a fair measure of contemplation before answering. "In truth, I have never been elsewhere, m'lord. There is much I would desire to see, and to experience. Whether those dreams shall ever come to fruition..? I doubt it."
To agree or not to agree with Ceinlys. There'a moment where he eyeballs her after that first comment. There is a just -barely- inclined head. "I can tell you this much, my father would not of let that farce continue as long as it did. The two of them would widdling the away the rest of their lives wearing the black. Maybe then they'd have a greater appreciation for that which they squandered by thinking with their small clothes." Yes, Aeron is from the North, and his sense of justice is cold, swift, and brutal. "Hanging wouldn't of solved anything and death doesn't teach any lessons. Making one suffer from the rest of their days for their crimes? -That-, my Lady, that is justice."
Onto to better things. "Fair enough, having to adapt is in itself, a way of surviving. But yes, survival for the North does not pretain around politicking. Everyone knows what must be done, and everyone has the role that they must fit into to make everything work. And everyone understands that. If it does not, then more than just themselves are at risk. Everything is at risk. Here, it's easier to consider one's own gains veruses losses, but there? Other rely upon you doing your job, doing it well, and getting it done on time. It may be harsh, but it works. Trite might be fitting, but I don't think it's thought in any direspectful way. Not for me, in any case. How it works here is vastly different than how it does here, it doesn't mean that one side is better than the other. I wonder, if because it's so different is why the North seems to…isolate itself. Hmmm…" And for a moment, he seems to consider that idea. "It's all about perspective, the key is just simply accepting that perhaps no one's perspective is true. An old huntsman, who had been a retainer of the Wulls for longer than I can remember told me once 'my Lord, nothing is ture, everything is permitted'. I asked him what he meant by that, and I never got a straight answer. Only that, I would understand 'in time'. Though with the things that he say, higher in the mountains than most of us would ever venture, he said he'd seen strange things. Errant balls of light, will-o-wisps he called them. Wolves that faded into mist, and wind that sounded more like a voice, speaking in a tougne he didn't understand. As a boy, those stories frightened me to now end and wrote him off as mad. Now, as I'm older and look back, I wonder how mad he really was."
That somber, almost chilly moment in the afternoon soon is broken by his smile. "Now, I wouldn't suggest taking advice from a Nayland, my Lady, but maybe you'll make an exception. If you ever get the chance, take it. I have traveled a great of Westeros and I have never once regretted it. When come to stand in grand cities of the Kingdom, say Winterhold or King's Landing, there is always a moment that you realize how much bigger the world really is, once you step outside of what you know. And sometimes, you learn a few unique truths about yourself when you allow to yourself to step outside your area of comfort. Learn things that you didn't know you could ever do. And, at least in my case, it was…exhilerating."
Eryk steps out into the terraces, the dust and dirt on his boots and his pants speaking of a long ride through varied country. He looks this way and that, as though looking for someone he recognises. It's not clear whether he finds them or not, but he does approach Ceinlys and Aeron. It's a slow approach, seemingly designed to give them more than enough time to see him coming before he gets there.
As Aeron speaks, musing aloud on the whys and wherefores of life as she has always known it, the raven-haired Steward maintains that half smile of hers, nodding at intervals to reassure that he still has her full attention. "If the opportunity should arise, Lore Aeron, I assure you, I will jump at the chance. Though with my father arranging my second betrothal, after all this time.. I fear I may have to turn my mind to simply being a 'wife', and less the politician." There's a certain hint of regret in her soft-spoken tone - no bitterness, but what is the Lady Ceinlys known for, if not the games of the nobility? Imagining herself merely as someone's wife is no easy thing. Particularly considering the rumors surrounding the end of her last marriage, and that of the Ashwood Lord.
No rest for the wicked, as they say.
Catching motion on the periphery of her vision, the young woman shifts her gaze from the Nayland seated beside her on the blanket, glancing beyond the few handmaidens still in attendance to note the arrival of a newcomer. Squinting a moment in the bright afternoon sunlight, her expression then clears in increments as recognition dawns. It taks a while, having been several years since she last laid eyes upon the approaching Knight, but whoever he is, he's graced with an unusually warm smile from the noblewoman. "Eryk! When did you get back?" She motions for him to speed his approach. Surely she would have noticed him, had he attended Ilaria's wedding? Then again, she had a lot of wine…
"Good. It is, as it should be, your choice. I only wish more had the oppurtunity to do so. There's always a great deal more to lean than just what is within one's own borders." Aeron notes. "Lady Ceinlys, it's been my opinion that a wife is never 'just a wife' and I suspect you will do more than just that. Besides, I imagine that would get pretty boring. I only hope I can keep Sabriel entertained." Granted, whether or not he has or hasn't heard particular rumors about Ceinlys, he doesn't seem to be the type to really care, so long as they don't effect him. And it from the sounds of it, he probably honest, not the kind of man who'd want his wife to be just that.
However, when Eryk appears, he makes no motion to move. And likely for the reason that it seems to be more of a family reunion. So, respectfully, he'll let them have that. He knows what it's like to not see family in years, recalling the first time seeing Visenya since he returned.
"Just now." Eryk answers, a wide smile spreading across his face as he hurries over to the two. Aeron, for the moment, goes entirely ignored. "More to the point, when did you grow up?" The question, teasing, is delivered with laughter. Clearly the man is glad to be home. "It seems so much has changed around here!"
"Around the time you departed, if I recall." quips the young woman in return, relenting to a brief grin, a glimpse of white teeth, at the sight of her newly returned cousin. Refraining from rising to embrace him - that's more Sabriel's manner than her own - she shifts her weight a little to at least better regard him now that he's closer. "Have you yet seen your sisters? No doubt they shall be ecstatic to see you." Yes, much has changed since he last saw her. A woman grown, Steward of Broadmoor and dogged by rumors all sorts of unseemly. Not that she appears to care. Never did, much.
Not leaving her current company ignored, Ceinlys turns her gaze back upon Aeron. "Lord Aeron, my cousin, Ser Eryk Haigh. Cousin.." she hesitates, suddenly (maybe) realising the connection between the two men, even as she gestures gracefully with one hand to accompany the introduction, "..this is Lord Aeron Nayland. Betrothed to your sister. And, I am certain, wont to make her very happy." This much is remarked mostly as an aside to the seated man, by way of answer to his voice concern in keeping the wild creature entertained. Who better than a ranger, after all?
Aeron has something of a very Northern appearence. The look of a man who has spent a great deal of time in the North. Which is odd, considering the house that he hails from. And he was politely letting the two speak, having reason to intrude, that is, until Ceinlys speaks up about Eryk being the Sabriel's brother. At that point, he does stand up. "You're Sabriel's brother?" he asks, not disbelieving, but perhaps a twinge of unexpected, as well as curious. "She had mentioned a brother, but that she hadn't seen him in years. And, ah, yes, Lady Ceinlys is right. I suppose this is an odd way of finding out, as well. But, good to meet you, Ser."
"I haven't seen them yet, no." Eryk beams, in a tone of voice that suggests he's very much looking forward to it. And then the introduction is made. And that's right about the time that smile vanishes, to be replaced by an unreadable but very definitely foreboding glance. "You're betrothed to Sabby?" Eryk asks, reflecting both the unexpected and the curious back at Aeron. "And yes, I am her brother. Her oldest brother. She has two of us." Pause. "I'm sure it is a pleasure to meet you, Ser."
Aware that she has dropped them both right in it, Ceinlys settles for a long moment to simply observing the exchange. Both men are, after all, perfectly polite and, to her knowledge, reasonable. But isn't it alays nerve-wracking, encountering family members for the first time? Especially when that family happens to be the Haighs. Poor Aeron.
In an exceedingly rare display of charitable sympathy - she must be in a good mood this afternoon.. helping a Nayland? What would her friends think.. - the Steward takes another sip of her iced milk before smoothly intervening. "Lord Aeron was just relieving my boredom by regaling me with tales of his time in the North. I expect the two of you would both find one another's experiences of interest.. perhaps over dinner, or an ale or two, hmm?" Her glacial eyes wander back and forth between the two men as they size each other up, in the politest way. "I would gladly join you, yet I fear I am soon to be bound for Highfield once more.. and with rather a lot of baggage to cart, this time." Well, there's rather a lot every time.. but men don't care about such details.
For what it's worth, Aeron has been doing a pretty, well, decent job(to him at least)in his efforts to not only be more socialble, but to at least suggest that his clan of Naylands aren't the, ahem, rabble that his cousins are. Though he does know that's a long uphill battle, every little bit counts. Though, the ranger the kind of man that would prefer people get along anyways. If he can befriend an Ashwood of all people… "Yes, she'd mentioned family a couple of times. Nothing but good things, I assure. She spoke yourself and her sister sister Laryssa most often, I think. Though she never did say where you had left off to." Thank goodness for Ceinlys. "That, is actually a very good idea. I'd be more than happy to share some exploits and drinks with you at some point, Ser. You haven't spoken to her yet? Oh, well, you should leave that as a surprise I think. I'm sure she'll be overjoyed to see you."
Eryk's smile does not reappear, and his arms fold over his chest as he considers the other man. His cousin's aid does appear to do a little good, though, since he continues to talk. "Yes, we shall have to talk at some point. Though I cannot promise how soon. I have my sisters to see, and must settle back in. But we will certainly talk. And as for where I had left off too, I've been at King's Landing these past seven years. Serving our family interests."
Stepping out into the garden terraces, Martyn is humming a little to himself under his breath. Looking around as he keeps on walking, the Mallister looks rather peaceful for the moment, as his gaze turns to the view.
Looking - if anything - rather amused by the sudden whiff of testosterone in the air, Ceinlys gathers her skirts and rises smoothly to a stand. Her personal handmaid, the old, sour-faced one, follows suit, though the lingering younger servants know they're not needed. They can linger to clear away the blanket and refreshments, when the time comes. "It would seem that you both chose well the time to visit Broadmoor." the young lady comments, pleasantly. If only she could linger a little to watch those delightful masculine displays, as two strangers decide whether their future will bring friendship or bloodied noses. Straightening to her full, alebeit diminuitive, height, the Steward clasps her hands lightly together against her skirts and looks between them once more. "If you will excuse me, however.. do help yourselves to anything you'd like." Her gesture encompasses the luscious picnic set to one side, with fruit and sweetmeats of varying sort, as well as a pitcher. "It'll only go to waste, otherwise." Then, she addresses each in turn, politely. "Lord Aeron, I have no doubt our paths will cross again in future. I look forward to hearing more of your tales, truly. And cousin.." She smiles toward Eryk. "Once you have found some respite and time with your kin, I'd be delighted if you were to visit Highfield. There are several there I expect would be greatly interested in whatever news you bring from King's Landing."
Well, you can win them all. Aeron seems quite used to that look, so much so that he looks a bit unphased by it. Living in the Norht with a bunch of Flints, Starks, Wulls, and whatever else, you get used to looks like…well, exactly like the one on Eryk's face. "King's Landing. I can't say I was there for seven years, but I did spend a short time in it. Whenever is for you, Ser. I doubt Sabriel will be wanting to leave anytime soon now that you're and she's been quite adamant on getting to know her family. However, I know what it's like to arrive home from overly-lengthy trip." There's a bow to Ceinlys. It's rusty, but he's getting better. "Of course, Lady Ceinlys. Be glad to offer more tales. And it was a pleasure to speak with you. Have a safe journey to Highfield."
"Hardly a visit, cousin." Eryk notes, not taking his eyes off Aeron. "I am told I am to assume the role of sheriff here." It's said in the easy-going tones of one who is used to doing what they are told, when it comes to their duty to their kin. "So if it is a visit, it is to be an extremely long one. But I shall be delighted to come up to Highfield, and share my news with you." Eyes go to Ceinlys then, finally, and there's even a brief smile. "Do be safe travelling. It is so good to see you again."
Martyn pauses as he sees the people present at the moment, offering them a nod and a bit of a smile as he studies them all for a few moments now. Expression a bit thoughtful since he doesn't know two of them, and the third he's only met rather briefly.
"Eryk, be nice." The words are murmured in passing as Ceinlys takes her leave, long skirts trailing a little across the well-manicured lawn with every step. "And congratulations." Smiling at the knight sidelong, she then glances back to include Aeron also in her nod of farewell and gratitude for the well-wishes. Her path toward the Keep, thereafter, is trod swiftly. Busy woman. But she does afford a curt nod toward the Mallister when her handmaid points out his presence. "Lord Martyn." The greeting is polite enough, but her strides aren't slowing.
"I suppose these things take time." Aeron notes simply. "I can tell that you're not exactly fond of, Ser, and I really don't want to make any worse of impression than I already have." Under the scrutinizing gaze there is a expression of simple acceptance. As if he's used to it. "So, it's probably for the best that I leave you to see your rest returning home and then seeing to your family. Should you wish to speak to me, don't hesitate to do so." Another bow before he excuses himself as well.
Eryk smoothes his feather's slightly at his cousin's quiet urging, and then Aeron speaks so plainly. There's a blink, as if he does not know what to make of the other man's words. Finally, he settles for "You are to marry my sister, Lord Aeron. I shall do you the courtesy of presuming you would be reacting to me as I am to you, were our roles reversed. I have said we shall speak, and I do not say what I do not mean." He seems quite unbalanced by the tack the other man has taken.
"Lady Ceinlys," Martyn offers with a nod to the lady, even offering her a momentary smile. As she moves past, he turns to look towards the two men again, stepping over in their general directions now, yet keeping a bit of distance now.
Even while heading off, Aeron gives a little grin. "I'd like to agree with you, Ser, but you haven't met my sisters." There's a slight resignation. "Well, fair enough. I might be a little curious to who married at least one of them. But if our roles were reversed, I'd probably say 'You poor sod, you need a drink.' But, I do understand. Until next time, Ser."
