[color=gold][b]Royal Pavilion, aftermath of the Pirates[/b][/color]

Ser Aerion waited patiently for each of his friends to introduce themselves to the King, each one bowing their heads in reverence, saying "It was our honor," or "It was our duty your Grace," words along that line, showing their respect and fealty to the king, even if they were not directly sworn to him, or lords that were sworn to him. They had been sellswords, men and women without a true master, wandering wherever war and pay took them. But perhaps today would be the start of something different, a return to a time in the past when their families laid claim to lands and castles, with their own families and knights and men at arms sworn to them, and their fealty sworn to their Highlords, and from them, to the Lord Paramount's, and from them, to the Crown. The King certainly for all appearances was the honorable and dutiful man from stories and tales that had circulated for years now, but it was nice to actually put a face and voice to those stories.

"Your Grace, I am Ser Aerion Goldfyre, of House Goldfyre. It was a great honor to have been able to come to your defense. I speak for my friends, we are all deeply honored by your generosity, and would be forever in your debt to be allowed such an honor. We look forward to meeting once again, when you deem it fit. Your Grace." Ser Aerion bowed deeply once more before King Jon Targaryen, before stepping back to allow the King and his entourage to make their way to the Grand Melee. The Band of Seven followed suit, all bowing deeply before the King and his retainers as they made their way past them, looking to one another is profound surprise at this sudden change of fortune, even if it only came to having their names spoken among the people of power and prominence for a few weeks. 

Once the King had departed, Ser Aerion and his friends turned to one another, looking over Ser Oswell and Ser Uther, both of whom would need to head to the medical tents, and get some bandages and care for their wounds. Nothing serious, but enough to where both men would need to stay out of combat for a few weeks. Ser Oswell chuckled softly as Lady Cerenna looked over him, holding his hands up before him, "My Lady, these wounds are hardly worth fussing over, just some cuts and bruises..." before he was cut off. 

"Cuts and bruises Ser Oswell, do you think me a concerned mother, clucking over her baby?" Lady Cerenna smiled, shaking her head. "You will let me tend to your wounds, along with your wounds as well, Ser Uther. I will not have anymore argument in this matter. The smallest of cuts can get infected, if either of you remember, those pirates and brigands don't exactly keep their weapons and gear clean, let alone if not tainted by other things. So hush your belly aching, and we will head to the medical tents, and I, not them, will look after you." Lady Cerenna finished, not even bothering to let either man speak another word. She hurried over to her brother Ser Lorimer, sharing a few words with him, and sharing an embrace. 

"Don't worry brother, if I come to any danger, I will whistle for you, and you can come save me like brave Ser Florian." She smiled, twirling away from her brother, and moving back to help both Ser Oswell and Ser Uther to the medical tents. Lady Cerenna and her two charges made their way, soon vanishing in the teaming crowd of people. 

Ser Lorimer sighed, and walked back over to his other friends, turning now with everyone left to face the beautiful and dangerous Baratheon bastard, Lady Visenya Storm, though most of the common rabble referred to her as Black Visenya. She had the striking black obsidian hair of any pure-born Baratheon, but in contrast to every other Baratheon, high and natural born, Visenya had striking indigo eyes, a mix of purple and browns to create a striking set of eyes. 

Ser Aerion watched with careful reverie, almost studying everything about Lady Visenya. It would appear that he was not the only bastard of ancient Valyria, and that the blood of the dragons flowed through Lady Visenya's blood as much as his. Though hers had the tell tale streak of the Stag and Storm Kings of old. Her armor fit well, a princess in her own right. Ser Aerion wondered if she had a dragon of her own, or if the Targaryen's did not bequeath such honors unto the "lesser" bloodlines. He listened to her speak, and found her voice to be alluring, seductive, whilst being powerful and threatening all at the same time. Aerion watched her closely, noting to himself that this would be someone he would not want to get on their bad side. 

As she turned to address Ser Aerion, his remaining friends, and the Freys, their eyes met for a few passing moments, almost as though she held her gaze upon him for a few seconds longer than normal. Aerion swallowed hard, his sense of calm and collection being warped, before Black Visenya's eyes moved elsewhere. She spoke in a polite commanding tone, inviting those to choose their own destination, what revelries to take part in. 

[color=purple][i]"As the king decreed, you shall all have places of honor in these merriments. If you wish you may compete, but you may also observe in comfort with fine food and drink. It would be my honor to guide you to where you wish to go. The jousting is still ongoing, and the next round of archery will begin soon. Perhaps you wish to see the king compete in the melee."[/i][/color] Lady Visenya would pause, before a shadow of a grin crossed her face, her tone changing as she spoke of another alternative set of choices, [color=purple][i]"Or we could forgo the formal events entirely. The commons have their own array of amusements, and there is many a young noble or knight who are engaged in all manner of folly. Finger dances, duels, dagger throwing, wrestling, gambling, drinking, a woman or two, all can be found here. Although I am not certain the young lord Bolton can stomach more drinks." [/i][/color]

Ser Aerion looked over to see the current Lord Bolton having thrown up recently... no doubt from heavy drinking, as the wind shifted wafting over the aroma of booze and half digested food. Aerion looked away from that sight, back to Black Visenya, watching her as she held a smile on her face whilst looking on at the dismal sight of the Lord Bolton. He turned to his friends, chatting with them quickly, nodding at a few suggestions, before sighing. 

They were right, it was his turn to go hob-knob with the landed gentry and nobility. Ser Aerion bowed before Lady Visenya, before speaking for his friends. "Your Highness, it would be a great honor if you could ensure that my companions enjoy themselves amongst the commons. They would surely enjoy themselves in your company, and I have no doubt that you would see them all to the best array of amusements there are to offer." He sighed, Ser Harwin and Ser Lorimer may have been joking with him when they said he had to address Lady Visenya with formality, but better to error on the side of caution rather than risk offending their hostess. 

"Ser Harwin, Lady Lyvia, and Ser Lorimer look forward to seeing how the people of Westeros occupy their time, and would certainly enjoy some good food and drink. Not to mention Lady Lyvia is an accomplished wrestler and duelist, she should prove to be a fun companion for the time being. Ser Lorimer and Ser Harwin have expressed interest with some drinking and as they put it, 'Some innocent carnal activites'." Ser Areion turned his head, smiling at his friends. He mouthed 'Go enjoy yourselves, stay out of trouble.' He turned back to face Lady Visenya, before speaking again. 

"If you'd be so kind, would you either escort me to the lists, or point the direction. I have been 'chosen' to spectate these royal events, and intermingle with those of importance. I am but a landless knight, like my friends, and we are in need of a patron to help see us raise our fortunes for the better." He smiled, bowing his head forward slightly, before finishing with, "If it pleases you, your highness." Ser Aerion straightened back up, and awaited for Black Visenya to respond in kind, knowing today was but the start of many adventures to come.