[center][h2][color=Moccasin]Pick a Pocket or Two[/color][/h2][/center]
[center][color=Moccasin]Alys Rivers, Dannel Flowers, Dyanna Dayne
Summerhall
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Vanq & [@LadyRunic][/center]


Summerhall was overwhelming with the masses that had converged ahead of the tourney start. Dannel had not passed through this part of the Stormlands before, but he knew it was as close to Dorne that he had come since he had been left for dead and near enough taken by the Stranger. He had been quieter the closer the pair drew to Summerhall. 

Great tents and pavilions greeted them, the actual castle of Summerhall, seemingly tiny in the distance. Dannel had offered to go do an initial bit of groundwork, a review of what he could see for opportunity of coin, or things that may interest Alys. It would be better, he kept to himself, if he had an idea of what they would be walking into. 

There were plenty of calls for women servants, though how many of those were truly as maids and not as bed-warmers was impossible to tell. Dannel ignored those, he’d never hear the end of it if he suggested such a thing to Alys. There were calls for men to help build the structures still going up in preparation of the tourney start. Hard-work, likely shit pay, but it would be a bit of honest work; work that was just as likely to cause injury as the melee. 

There was indeed plenty of opportunity to make more than a few coppers - and plenty of opportunity to swing for it. He heard talk of the quick justice the Prince of this castle deployed. Yet another bit of hypocrisy, for surely the Prince should hold his own household responsible for their crimes, or the crimes of their family.  Dannel’s scar prickled, his jaw locked up at the thought. No point agonizing over it, there was nothing to be done other than nurse that anger, and that was better done over ale. 

He made his way back through the crowds, to Alys. “You’ll want to be more careful here, it seems our Princely host doesn’t take kindly to petty crime.” A lopsided grin flicked across his lips, she was not likely to listen to him no matter what.

If one was to call this a grand tournament, they would be most right and proper about it. Perhaps years of travel and her acquaintance with large crowds and many dwellings being of better use to her, but Alys preferred such over open countryside. A change from her youth. Then she had liked nothing better than riding her pony across the fields, learning how she was to be a lady. Days long past, now she wore the garb of a squire with her red braid tucked and pinned deftly under her cap. Gripping the two horses as Dannel returned, the squired arched a brow. Her voice having that cracking squeak of a boy just coming into manhood and by her face, only just. “I hadn’t noticed.” She remarked pointedly, sliding pale eyes off in the direction of the gallows. Men already hung there, and a woman could just as easily hang as well. A Targaryen’s word was as good as law in Westeros and on his own land that was doubly so.

“Aye.” Dannel followed her eyes, the gallows were meant to be a statement and a warning. “But I thought it worthwhile to say it aloud nonetheless.” Dannel picked at the saddle bag strapped to his horse.  “Perhaps more to the point, we’re quite close to the grounds House Redwyne claimed.” His stomach rumbled in remembrance of what had actually smelled tantalizing. “Wine, grilled meat, and a lot of drunken louts from what I could see.” 

Stroking the nose of her stout horse, she studied the tents in the near distance with the Redwyne flag flapping along with so many others. From the Dornish sands to the Vale. Her lips thinned, Manfryd would not come to a tourney and especially not one hosted by a Targaryen. Her father had no love of them, he had railed of them after Benjicot’s death. No, Manfryd would have no Targaryen loving heir to take his place and he certainly would not grace a one of the Princes’ tournaments without a direct invitation, which surely no Prince would give! “Redwynes.” Alys could recall them for a family grown rich from wine, boats and being of note within the Reach. A prosperous bit of merchanting if what Septa Bessa had taught her rang true. “Wine and grilled meat, you say Ser? How could we turn down such!” But the suspicious and cunning though was more to the mind of those drunken louts. “You goin’ ter be offerin’ yer service to them Ser? Heard more than one man walk by talking about some Lords hiring knights.” Oh, she would dance on a barrel if she could get a Redwyne shield snatched into her pack. A signet ring would be even better, but it was best as to not be so greedy. Things that could get lost and not noticed were the best things to take. Looking to the side she narrowed her eyes towards a more distant flag. “Ser Dannel, what’s the mark of a blue hawk on silver?” 

“House Fowler I believe, of Skyreach.” He spoke without a moment’s thought, unsure of when he had learned the houses of Dorne, yet he did know them all. “As for offering my services, the Redwynes were indeed looking for men. Hard labor it seemed. Perhaps it would be better work for a surly squire to take on?” He chuckled as he closed up the saddle bag, a small bite of dried meat to quell his hunger for a moment. “I’ll stand guard for some foolish lord but I’d rather not break my back for them. First though, should I go claim a bit of land for us?” 

She had not seen that particular banner, nor could she place it. Perhaps it was from far South in Dorne? It was a curiosity, and she longed to slip among those tents and see what bits they, in particular, would not miss. Self preservation held her back, a tent was needed. A place to turn from squire to lady and back again just in case someone came looking. “Once you're settled into a tent Ser, I’ll see what’s what. Heard tell there’s an archery competition!” Her voice squeaked in excitement that was very really. She could not resist a challenge such as that and even if there was half a garrison of troops searching for her? Alys would find her way to where her skill with the bow could be appreciated. 

“I thought you may have heard of that already. It seems that the Lady of Summerhall herself will enter into it.” He ran a calloused hand through the short curls of his hair. “You’ll enter the lists of course. I’d bet good coin we don’t have yet that you best at least a few of them.” He grinned, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes. The scar tugged and pulled at his skin with a wince. 

In a lower voice she took a sideways glance at Dannel. “Your scar is tight enough that you might split it open, what is wrong Ser?” Though lowering her voice, she kept the ‘squire’ voice.

Dannel ran two fingers over the scar. He was unsettled, and that always seemed to push the pain and discomfort to the front of his mind. “You ever get the feeling something bad is coming?” He stared off for a moment, watching the masses scurry.  “Of course you do, you always have a sense for when a plan is about to sour. I’m just fretting for the both of us again, don’t you worry about me, boy.” 

Alys had to duck against her mare's side to hide the wicked grin that broke her facade. It was so enjoyable to play the game with Dannel, though she sobered as she realized the truth was that she was worried to. Accidents could happen in the list and she had no wish for Dannel to befall one. The lie she told herself was that he was too useful, but she had grown found of his company and life was harder alone than with a knight to play the squire to. "Not at all, Ser. I shall mind the business of tending horse and armor." She agreed with a slight squeak. Eagerly following to see where this ten would be set at. "And I'd suggest away from the Blackwoods, no need to have Brackens side-eyeing Ser. Which they might if they think ye court the favor of Lord Quentyn." In truth she did not wish for the man to recognize her. “How about near the Redwynes? They’ve got wine and feasting. Easy enough to keep us both pleased.” She offered, though she did really want to try and snatch a Redwyne shield!

Dannel agreed quickly enough, a short nod of the head and he was off to claim the small bit of land and set to work. Bracken, Blackwoods, he knew their names and he knew they caused nothing but trouble. That was good enough reason to avoid that lot. For such a small task it took no time to have something at least serviceable. He left Alys to manage whatever womanly things she needed to manage, and begged his leave. He’d find a way to make a quick bit of coin and come back with food and drink. 

— — 

“Further back now!” A light voice called out to the sound of laughter. A woman stood, bow in hand, her other waving at a man in the distance. He dragged a target a few feet back, stopped, and looked to the woman for any further instruction. “I said further back, good man. Further back now!” Another tittering of laughter spread in the crowd that had gathered. A few minutes passed before at last the woman was satisfied with the distance. “Now get out of the way!” 

She lifted the bow, and in one smooth movement drew back the string. For a moment, time seemed to pause. She felt the soft autumn breeze rustle loose tendrils of hair and took a deep, centering breath. Her muscles pulled at the tension of her draw and she released. The arrow shot clear and true to the target. A smile grew across her face, genuine and kind. She turned to her audience and offered a small bow before walking off to the fencing to receive a cup of watered down wine. Her nose wrinkled at the taste, alas, it was for the best. 

Sauntering through the crowd, using elbows as much as a wicked remark to make a path. Alys Rivers stared with absolute glee at the field before her. An archery contest where she would not have to dress as a squire! Some relief that was, she was fond of the dark green gown that clung to a shapely frame she used to distract the eye from what her hands did. Already her own purse had grown slightly over the course of her walk. Men were free with their gaze and drink. A laugh, smile, wink and they never noticed fingers slipping where they should not! Leaning on the fence, she watched the woman take the shot. An impressive distance, but it was hardly a moving target. A well dressed woman who looked as though she might be a noble’s daughter come for the tournament and to look for prospective husbands. Though she was a bit old not to have been wed yet. Unhooking her own skin freshly filled she thrust it across the fence to the woman, studying the lavender eyes and blonde hair. Perhaps a bastard of dragon seed?

“Take it, I just filled it and it will taste better than what is in that cup.” She offered lightly in her rough tone, flicking her braid over her shoulder. Propping her head on her hand she studied the target and chuckled a low, rich sound. “Not a bad shot at all, though that target is hardly on the run.”

Pale lavender eyes took in the form that had appeared rather brusquely before her. With a quick glance and a small wave, she stopped her maidservant from interfering or calling for any of the palace men. It had been hard enough to get away and she didn’t need anyone alerting her cousin or husband to her location. Still, she waved away the offered skin. “I’m afraid I’m on strict orders to drink this mix.” The woman offered a small chuckle, “much as it leaves a poor taste in my mouth.” 

The woman before her was a pretty thing, and, Dyanna was sure, she knew it. She had an ease not often found. “I’ve been told it’s bad form to shoot at moving targets on a tourney field. I wouldn’t want to give the men more reason to be uppity about a woman encroaching on their sport. At least, these northern men seem to find it an odd thing.” Again a gentle smile crept across her lips as she cocked her head in thought. “You speak as if you know a thing or two about it - you must be here to sign up as well? The attendants should know to turn away no woman.” 

There was a wince of commiseration on the red head’s face, medicine was never something one sought out. Especially when it came to drink the vile brews. Looking over the grounds with a keen eyes, as she listened to the noble woman prattle on. “If the menfolk wish to be uppity, then I say it only gives reason to have them carry the targets while the women shoot.” She commented with a wicked grin. Let any man get between her and the bow! She had started it simply to enjoy more time with Benji, but later it had become a mementomori for her dead twin. A way to work out problems and focus, then survival had hinged on her skill with the bow.

“Aye, I am. You might learn a thing or two if you watch closely.” There was real pride in Alys’s voice but no menace. A friendly competition jab towards another who enjoyed archery. Of course, she could risk offending the woman, but women were often more sensible then men and not so keen to draw steel over honor. Of course, Alys considered as a darkness flickered in her mind, some women were more vicious in melted towers and haunted halls. “Which means, I need to hunt down an attendant.” She still eyed the field and her hand stroked her braid. “Oh, this will be utterly delightful. A clever thing to allow women to shoot as well.” She chuckled in her throaty tone. “The Prince chose well in his choice of wife.”

“There is always so much for us to learn - especially from one another I think.” Dyanna responded genuinely. What an odd creature, yet she felt an immediate kinship. She had not dressed the part of Maekar’s wife, or at least, had not dressed as many expected a Targaryen Prince’s wife to dress, so perhaps this was to be expected even if it surprised her. 

“Prince Maekar?” Had affection crept into her voice? “Yes, some say his choice in wife is the best decision he ever made. Otherwise, he casts such a brooding figure. Best to avoid him, or so they say.” A glint of joy sparked in her eyes. She smoothed the top of her brown skirts and adjusted the leather surcoat over her stomach. “Why don’t I join you, I’ve been listed already so I know just who we can approach for you.” She offered the crook of her arm as she rounded the fence to join the woman’s side. Behind her, Dyanna was certain she heard a muffled sigh. 

“You would put me in your debt for such aid.” The mock shock in her voice was filled with amusement and Alys took the offered arm. “But yes, from what I’ve heard? Best to avoid all men who grumble so loudly. I have one in my own family, unfortunately.” Manfryd had grumbled loud enough to drown out the trouble about Danelle, and the Harlot. “And whom do you have in mind?” She cocked her head curiously. A good bit taller than she, was this mysterious archer. Absently she remembered she had forgotten to introduce herself but the conversation was rather relaxed and enjoyable. It would be a shamer to interrupt the flow with belated manners.

Dyanna patted the girl’s hand briefly. She thought her a girl, though truthfully they could not be that different in age. “I think we all have at least one like that. My eldest brother is prone to grumbling and anger.” Another bit of truth, Vorian vexed her greatly, particularly with the most recent news that had finally reached her ears, much as Ryon had tried to hide it. 

“Just a bit around this path. The man is a serious sort of course, but he was quick and courteous with me and so it should be for you.” Dyanna led them a few more feet forward before spying the attendant in the distance. It was not entirely untruthful. The man had been put in charge of coordinating various entries. And he had been given very explicit instructions about how to respond to any other women entrants. Done so at her behest of course. 

“Lady D-” He began in greeting, a look of surprise across his face. 

“Now, now. You’ve already accepted my entrance request. I’ve found another friend who’d like to enter the archery lists as well. Please add…” Dyanna paused with a firm glance to the attendant who had half-recovered. “I’m afraid we’ve broken all sorts of courtly etiquette. What [i]is[/i] your name, my friend?”

Unable to do anything but follow along, Alys nodded in agreement and chuckled at the thought of men speaking so. They were usually quick and courteous when they wanted something done and out of their hair and thought you a lady. Pausing in midstep as they came upon the man, Alys raised a brow upon the notice of her companion. [i]’Lady D-’[/i] left several questions and there was a inkling of suspicion that made her pause completely and study the woman closer with a more speculative expression. A sly smile of amusement sliding across her lips. “Courtly etiquette, broken? How horrible, I fear we shall have to go before the Mother for penance.” She remarked lightly, and arched a red brow that matched slightly redden cheeks as she realized exactly whom she was addressing so. “Alys Rivers, I am. I do believe I address Lady Dyanna Targaryen? My, we have made a right mess of things, have we not?”

A broad grin broke across Dyanna’s face, she held the woman’s arm loosely in her hand. “Roderick, please add Alys Rivers to the lists, in my grouping please. And see to it that we have a steward made available to Alys for anything her and her party may need ahead of the contest.” Dyanna gave a curt nod to the man who now seemed more perplexed but did his best to keep his face smooth. 

“Of course, my Lady.” He bowed his head and motioned for some of his assistants to join them. They waited until Dyanna was finished with her conversation. 

She turned towards the lady, pleased that Alys had pieced it together herself. “I am sorry, it was nice to be unrecognized for a bit. I have not completely grown accustomed to being...me.” Dyanna folded her hands over her stomach with a small shrug. “So, perhaps you could see fit to give these men where you’re located in the tourney grounds. And I must ask that you join me for dinner tonight. I’m afraid my husband is likely to be busy with other matters.” Her eyes glanced up and over Alys’ head at a tell-tale sight and sound. Except, perhaps her husband had been made aware that she had slipped out. That man worried too much, even if it made her blush in appreciation. “Unless you’d like to meet him now, I’ll have one of those men escort you up to Summerhall this evening.” A mischievous glint sparked again, Maekar would surely be his normal public self - brooding and grim - and it was probably best to not actually frighten the girl so.

There were few things that knocked Alysanne Lothstone sideways, but she could hardly help the smile at the acceptance given by the pretty woman. A mark in her favor and that she was a sensible sort. “I’ve no need of a steward, though I thank you for the offer My Lady.” She protested firmly, though there was another reason. Dannel would not appreciate a man coming into their small camp and she would appreciate it even less to have her own ruse discovered. Though her eyes dance at the perplexed folk around them, it was always good to knock other people’s legs from under them, mentally at least. “My Ser Knight would not appreciate it in the slightest and grumbling men…” 

She glanced over her shoulder as she pretended to straighten her dress, noticing Dyanna’s attention being moved to a disturbance. An offer to dinner from the Lady of the Tournament? She could hardly refuse! What was worse, however, was that Alys did not wish to refuse. She found Lady Dyanna Targaryen a charming woman of intellect that did not dim when a mere bastard woman of little to no renown was before it. [i]”Admit it, old girl. You like this young woman.”[/i] She chided herself, though her husband was another matter. “I am camped with Ser Dannel of House Bushy near the Redwyne encampment. He or his squire can easily find me, My Lady.” She dipped a low curtsy and cocked a brow. “You honor me, My Lady. I shall be glad to attend only send a time.Your conversation is most enjoyable.” With that she slipped into the crowd, weaving through the bodies of people and she considered exactly who had invited her to sup.

Dannel was going to be spitting nails, and Alys did not care a wit. That was the most enjoyable conversation she had had in months. Sighing, she skirted about two carters arguing over collided wagons. A purse went into her own and she sighed utter delight. Oh, this was a very delightful tournament. Now, so long as Dannel did not spit nails into her! A giggle at the thought burst from her lips. Oh, who would have thought this was the way the wind would blow! But she would be collected, calm. Perfectly courteous. Even if she was seven years out of practice.


[hider=TL;DR]
Dannel takes a look around the grounds where houses great and small are setting up. Alys and he come up with an initial plan of what to do.
Alys wanders off and accidentally meets the Lady of Summerhall where she's invited to dine. 
[/hider]