[b][color=gold]Ser Aerion and the Lord Paramounts[/color][/b]

Willas had been speaking with Tyrion and Sansa for some time, with Alerie going down with the two Targaryens, he had been left with the dwarf and the Stark of reknown. By the time the conversation petered out, another figure had come, the short-haired Knight someone that Willas didn't recognize, but he seemed friendly enough, another face to meet.
"And who might you be, Ser...." He asked, sipping a little more wine, knowing he wanted to parlay.

Ser Aerion had been patiently waiting for the conversation between the Tyrell and Lannister Lords to end, knowing it would be a grievous breach of ettiquite to speak to them before they themselves were done. He had since removed his helmet, the gold dragon adorned kettle helm buckled securely to his belt. Ser Aerion watched all those that had been engaged with conversation to Lord Tyrell finally make their departures, and to his relief, no other lords seemed to wish to engage in dialogue. Thus, Ser Aerion moved foward, presenting himself to Lord Willas Tyrell.

"An honor to be in your presence, Lord Tyrell. I am Ser Aerion Goldfyre, of the Stepstones. Might I trouble you for some conversation, if you do not mind having to interact with a humble knight?" Ser Aerion smiled politely, before bowing before Lord Tyrell. Aerion knew little about the man who was now in charge of the Reach, but he remembered hearing something about thorns and largest army in the realm. Letting out a small breath, he awaiting patiently for Lord Tyrell's response, and hopeful introduction to sit and conversate.

"Of course not, Ser Aerion." Willas said, his voice accepting, he didn't sound like some kind of stuck-up arsehole, and even though his position said he should have been, he was willing to listen.
"What is it you wish to ask? You seem to have been talking to the other nobles of this stand, so I assume you have kept them interested with some parlay." He said, his voice stern, but he seemed open, willing to talk, a little insular but still, gregarious enough. Well spirited to get on with anyone...and anyone he didn't get on with, that was a good judgement of a prick. 

Aerion bowed slightly this time, "Thank you for your time. I will do my best to be brief as to not burden your day of fun and revelry." Aerion moved to stand out of the sun in the shade, as he was not specifically offered to sit. "Lord Tyrell, I don't know any other way of asking these next few questions without seeming too prying, but perhaps an ambitious knight must at times risk offense in order to offer his services to that of a noble lord. In that, do you, or perhaps any of your vassals, have any open contracts at the moment, that need fulfillment?" Ser Aerion straightened his tunic, and allowed for his tabard to catch a small breeze.

Willas scratched his beard a little, listening, paying attention. It wasn't an unheard of thing, and he had now remembered the stories of Aerion, well, they were rumours mostly, but he didn't seem like a nefarious or terrible type. A mercenary, perhaps seeking a way out of his life, from his armour, he could guess that he'd served in a famed Essosi band. Didn't make him a bad person, but it made him servant to coin, and Willas was no fool. Yet he was honorable, and he knew that from his appearance, he had to be a good fighter, he had the scars and scratches on his metal to prove it.

"Risking offense is a brave thing, Ser Aerion. I have no doubt in your abillities, and you've probably asked the other Houses for an offer, of what land, or titles I can bestow upon you. Truth be told, I'd be willing to give you a home. Mercenaries don't often find that easily, but if you're willing to serve House Tyrell, then you can be a man-at-arms for my son, Merlin. He needs a retinue, a military hand that isn't from House Tarly, or Garlan." Willas said, concerted and thought in his words, as he sipped a little more wine, realizing he was a ilttle rude.

"Actually, take a seat on that step, Ser Aerion. Amber, grab this man a goblet and both of us more Arbor." He said, to the small girl that sat on the stands below, Alerie's handmaiden no less, though she stayed with Willas upon Alerie's request. She made her way down, as Willas turned back to Aerion again. Perhaps he'd turn it down. Willas was not stupid, he might just fluster and demand land, an actual holding, of which Willas was not going to give him. There were hundreds of nobles and sons, Reachmen who would be deserving, than a random stranger, a mercenary that Willas had only just met, and was still figuring out. He knew he was a mercenary, and it sat as a certainty.

"No promises of land, but if you want a wage, and you want to serve House Tyrell, then you are granted that. I'm a fair and just man, Ser Aerion. My lands, my sons and daughters are too. Your bravery can give you that solace of a life like that if you want." 

Ser Aerion patiently listened to all Lord Tyrell had to say, knowing that such great and powerful men said important things, words worth listening to, to those who had the ability to grasp at what was being said, what was implied, and what had to be learned and understood. Ser Aerion's armor would faintly glint from the sun, the well worn armor a testament to his profession and the level of combat Aerion, and the armor's predecessors had seen. The Lord of House Tyrell was a smart man, as all those had said in passing, both highborn and low. Certainly, the most prudent course of action in this tricky matter was to remain honest and forthcoming. 

"Thank you for the seat and the gift of drink. I certainly appreciate such a kind gesture." Ser Aerion bowed his head, before taking a seat upon the wooden step closest to him. He politely thanked the Tyrell handmaiden named Amber, offering her a polite bow from his seat as she poured him a goblet of Arbor. He returned his full attention to Lord Tyrell, as he chose his next words as carefully as he could. "You speak honestly, and with caution, Lord Tyrell. All too often the notion of sellsword and greedy are intertwined with one another, and the ever present idea of dishonorable. I can do little to assure you in words, let alone one or two deeds. I would certainly have to prove my character to you, and by extension, those that owe fealty to you." He paused, taking a slow sip from his goblet.

"Some men might boast of their skill and abilities, but I will not waste my breathe, nor your time with trivial words of actions supposedly done in the past. Rather, I will say that you offer a fair deal. Any man, no matter who he is, or where he came from, has to earn his place in the world, and to do so otherwise, is to invite dishonor and discredit to one's name and house." Aerion looked down at the jousting knights, the lords and sons of lords jockying for fame and fortune. "A real test would certainly be in order, no doubt. A man, even the humblest of hedge knights, can get lucky in the lists, the melee. He could defeat a great knight, or an even greater lord, but a true test comes from a man's ability to serve honorably on the field of battle, even when the situation calls otherwise."

"Certainly. I wouldn't make my judgement on that. And believe me...we'd know." Willas replied, nodding, continuing to listen.

Aerion refocused back to Lord Tyrell, "Lord Tyrell, lands would be nice, as would titles, and the list goes on. But, I must earn those things in time, be it through saving wages, or through continued fealty and service to another. I could certainly fill the roll of a man-at-arms for your son, Ser Merlin Tyrell." He paused, only to take another sip of Arbor. "I would ask that grant me some time to think your offer over, not in the hopes of finding another, perhaps more lucurative offer, but to verify who you are, and if my friends would be willing to accept a contract of service, a leal of fealty, to House Tyrell, and by extension to you. I say this because I would want you to meet my compatriots first, to see what you, Lord Tyrell, would be associating yourself with, if we were to serve your House." Aerion would finish his goblet of Arbor, softly setting it down.

"A Lord, my father said, is an extension of those who serve him. Dishonorable men dishonor their lord. I would not wish to risk bringing any trouble to your Household if such could be avoided. For now, all I shall say, is that I would consider your offer to be a most fair and honorable one, and a propisiton worth pursuing." Ser Aerion stood up, bowing deeply before Lord Tyrell. "I thank you for allowing me to sit and speak with you, and for sharing your hard earned wisdom, as well as your Arbor. A good vintage, if I may say." Ser Aerion paused, unsure if he wanted to say more, perhaps thinking if it were even relevant to speak such, before taking a deep breath. "If I may be bold one last time, I will say only this, keep an eye out for those who may seek to profit briefly from your family, to take a rose without permission, only to run off where the winds carry them. Some people, no matter how brightly polished on the outside, are but gilded with gold to hide their true nature on the inside. Lord Tyrell, I thank you humbly for your time... and will take no more of it." 

Ser Aerion turned quickly to face Lady Amber, and bowed before her once more, "And you, Lady Amber, thank you for your kind service in providing your Lord Tyrell and I with refreshment. You did not spill a drop of Arbor, and did so with precision. May you continue to excell at all you do." Aerion turned back to Lord Tyrell, awaiting for the Lords final words, and his own dismissal, before daring to turn his back and leave.

"Why, thank you, Ser Aerion. Believe me, I have watched my family like my favourite falcon will watch me. I don't intend to let people scrape off our riches, or our kindness. We grow strong, so we offer the goodwill we do, whilst making sure those who seek to destroy our family are always shown their way. You don't strike me as that, Ser Aerion. Experience has taught me who is just...and who wants to take everything you hold dear." Willas replied, turning, as he nodded, finishing the cup.

"Have some time to think, Ser Aerion. I will tell you that it will take work, you may not find the instant riches and gold you had, but with good work, land, and perhaps even a small title may come your way, if you prove worthwhile to our house. We do not forget those who do good by us...neither, do we ever forget those who burn us." He said, his insular voice far more extrusive, as he shook his hand, nodding.

"Thank you for your time, Ser Aerion. Consider my offer. You will know where to look for my house, if you need our services." Willas concluded, knowing he'd think about it. He knew exactly what Aerion meant, because he'd mused it himself. Putting him next to Merlin was an honour, but he knew that Merlin would keep him in his retinue, and no further than that. 

Ser Aerion bowed once more, as we customary, before leaving Lord Tyrell and the rest of his retinue to their respective privacy, and made his way to his next destination, where ever that may be.

And so, Ser Aerion moved away to an empty area of the stands by the stairs, collecting his thoughts from all the new information that he had learned from the Great Lords of Westeros. Perhaps the two most forthcoming sources of knowledge and intelligence were Lord Lannister, and Lord Tyrell. Unsurprising was the underlying religious tensions, if not outright violence from the fanatical holdouts from the remnants of the Devout. Ser Aerion learned that Queen Cersei had risen the Sparrows to power, been betrayed by them, and then wiped out an entire sect of them within King’s Landing. Suffice to say, these fanatical worshipers of the Seven held a grudge. Raiding and sacking villages, crucifying those deemed heretics, which in their eyes, was a great deal of folks. A nuisance to be taken care of for sure.

Next came information of the so called “Vulture King”, a bandit leader who had taken control of a sizable swathe of land in the Northern region of Dorne. He would no doubt grow stronger, gathering more to his cause if not quickly suppressed. In tandem with this outlaw, were the Stepstones uprising, no real surprise there… ‘Pirates’ Ser Aerion thought, along with a pirate fleet commanded by the dreaded ship “Silence”. What was more troubling was the talk of mysterious disappearances, so called ghouls and ghosts, demons stealing small folk away in the night. Ser Aerion doubted it was truly such fantastic creatures, but rather a more mundane answer, slavers and bandits. Bad men and women who preyed upon the innocent, the weak, and the defenseless.  

Last, and perhaps the most interesting of all to Ser Aerion, was the talk of, or rather grumbling, of the ruined lands that still lay fallow. Keeps, castles, villages that were still in ruins, without people to live there… or rather, pay taxes to whoever had dominion over the lands. Ser Aerion had smiled inwardly to himself. No matter how bad things were, for the most part, Lords really only cared about one thing, and one thing only, that their subjects were ponying up their due taxes to keep them fabulously wealthy and powerful. Though, they had that luxury and right, so to speak, while Ser Aerion owned next to nothing, aside from his armor and arms, along with a ship, that was in part owned by his friends. Still, time would tell if Ser Aerion could rise above being a hedge knight, to perhaps being a landed knight, or even a petty or minor lord. Hard work though, but it was certainly going to be worth it in the end.

Ser Aerion relaxed in his area of the stands, politely speaking to those that approached him, tending to be more often than not other individuals of minor standing. Servants, pages, cupbearers, knights, guards, and even the attractive Tyrell handmaiden, Lady Amber. Ser Aerion shared a few words with her, thanking her for their shared conversation. Though, as with everyone, duty called, and she had to hurry back to her duties, leaving Ser Aerion alone once more. He had looked a few times at the lists, more often than not bored by the pageantry and foolishness of it all. To many of these lords and knights, war was but a game, were some would accidentally die. The truth was far from that, and they perhaps kept themselves ignorant of that.

Aerion recalled a particular dreary campaign on one of the Stepstones. A climate that mixed both tropical with temperate, fighting was a nightmare. Bogs, forests, steeps cliffs and ravines, streams and ponds, marshlands intermingling with fields, more often than not it was the elements that killed a man rather than combat. He had even seen a few men dragged down into quick sand, being sucked into the ground as if it were water. The bloody combat, every day a savage fight for survival. Plus, serving under Bloodbeard, the leader of the Company of the Cat, you saw just how savage and depraved humans could be, both men and women. Ser Aerion shook his head clear, suppressing that memory and focused on another bout, choosing to humor himself at their vainglory rather that his past conflicts.


[b][color=orange] Medical Pavilion, Lady Clegane and Lady Lefford[/color][/b]

Lady Lyvia had a splitting headache, not to mention a multitude of other wounds. That last thing she wanted was a lecture from Lady Cerenna, and yet that is what she got. Ser Jeor Mormont had escorted her to the Medical Pavilion, and been so kind to explain to Lady Cerenna what had happened. Ser Jeor was a good man, and strong, but even with his honest retelling of the events, it had not saved Lady Lyvia from a multitude of angry words and two curses, which was unlike Lady Cerenna, who no doubt was very, very angry. She sighed, letting Cerenna vent her anger out as she worked to begin taking care of Lyvia. Most the wounds would heal in a few days, perhaps one or two a week at most. The bruises would be ugly, and the scaring would be minimal. Lady Lyvia laughed softly as Ser Jeor spoke to her before he took his leave. 

[color=green] “Finely fought my lady. I hope to see you at the wedding feast. We shall drink to your health. And your fists.” [/color] Ser Jeor said with a wry smile, before he and his squire left to return to their business. Lady Lyvia bowed her head, as she found the comments oddly warming and needed. Turning her head, she faced Cerenna, and offered her would could be conceived as her most sincere and honest smile and apology. “Lady Cerenna, I am sorry for my fun. Look, I wasn’t going to let those dullards get away with insulting me, or my mother. You may not understand what it is like, but to be a Clegane is to be synonymous with infamy. I will not stand to let the pricks and guttersnipes of the world detract from who I know myself to be, and who I know my mother to be. So go ahead and be angry, you are rightfully so, I did disobey Ser Aerion, but at the same time, I did what I had to, regardless of the cost and outcome. So go and lecture me, tell me I was a bad girl, so at least Ser Aerion won’t have to lecture me as well, you are quick and sweet about it, even when you are mad… owww, be careful.” Lady Lyvia finished, growling her last words out as Lady Cerenna fixed Lyvia’s broken nose. 

“Oh quit it you big baby, you just have to ruin all my fun, don’t you? Bah, you just shush and let me do my work. I needed to fix your nose, and now I have to figure out what to do about this swelling. For the love of the Mother, don’t you ever think about having a friend or two, so when you galavant off into trouble, we could possibly help you? No… no, I am Lyvia, I am a Clegane, and I must show everyone how tough I am… pssh, whatever.” Cerenna began to wrap a cool bandage about Lyvia’s swollen eye as she continued to rant. “One more thing, Lyvia, could you quit breaking your nose? Its going to be crooked one of these days, and nothing will be able to change that, so keep your guard up. I feel like all you do…” Cerenna shoots a glare at Ser Uther and Ser Oswell, “Is get into trouble, and need me to kiss all your hurts. Maybe one day you all could just not cause mischief, and let me enjoy a nice afternoon stroll, or a lounge by a pond… what would we do without one another?” Cerenna smiled, shaking her head as she busied herself with her work. 

As Cerenna, and those like her hurried to mend the wounds of their patients, the air within the tent grew cool and quiet, as the flap to its entrance was pushed aside. Lady Cerenna, Lady Lyvia, Ser Uther, and Ser Oswell all paused, looking across the cots and tables to gaze upon a truly stunning and beautiful woman. She had an almost magical beauty to her, as she gracefully strode further into the mass of cots, bodies, and the such of the Medical Pavilion. Cerenna straightened up, wiping her hands clean with a fresh piece of white linen. The mysterious woman was soon flanked by a small number of guards, all whom bore the sigil of House Velaryon. The woman herself had the house’s colors as well, her dress the most intriguing shade of aguamarine, glinting and shimmering in the rays of sunlight that found their way through the tent’s cracks and windows. Both Ser Uther and Ser Oswell also took note of her seductively shapely figure, which was perfectly accentuated by her dress. 

As she made her way across the interior area of the tent, she greeted those who were wounded, gently patting their shoulders, taking outstretched hands, allowing gentlemanly kisses upon her hand, all the while drawing ever closer to the four friends. To Cerenna, it was almost as if she glided across the floor, seemingly not touching it, but that couldn’t be true. Even her guards cut a dashing scene, their perfect armor and arms a testament of the house in which they served. Finally, she stood before the four members of the Band of Seven, looking to each one, before she spoke in a tone that had a calming and healing nature to it, like a voice of an angel. 

[color=teal] “Valiant knights, noble ladies. I am Princess Daenyra and I came to offer my most sincere thanks for aiding my father in battle and coming to his protection.” [/color] She paused, choosing to offer a dainty smile, before continuing. [color=teal] “The King is a mighty warrior, but it is most heartening to know the King has true friends in your company. I heard the King has invited you to the wedding feast as guests of honor. This pleases me greatly and it would please me more if you were to be my guests at the festivities. My place would be at the high table with my brother and his bride, but a place of renown has been reserved for those of my husband’s house. Please relay to your leader that you are all free to be seated with the men and women of Driftmark and would be in honorable company. I have much to attend to, but I would be indebted if you were to convey my offer. I wish you all a speedy recovery and hope to see you at the feast.” [/color] Princess Daenyra smiled radiantly this time, before taking her leave, turning perfectly, leaving with her guards closely following behind. 

As Lady Cerenna processed the offer that had been extended to her and her friends, she turned around to look at Lady Lyvia, Ser Uther, and Ser Oswell in utter shock. Their wounds had all but disappeared, leaving almost no sign of ever being there except small, almost silver like scars, that were barely visible. Lady Cerenna brought her hand to her mouth, shocked at what she was seeing, let alone processing. There was no possible way for such a thing to happen… no logical explanation. This unsettled her, causing Cerenna to take a few steps back, and splash cool water upon her face. She looked back at her friends, and shook her head, signing for them to keep quiet. Whatever had happened, she would need to tell Ser Aerion with all due haste. 

“The three of you, when you are ready, make your way to the lists… actually, Ser Oswell, go get my brother and our other compatriot… we need to speak with Ser Aerion now… go. We will talk later.” Cerenna spoke with a surprising tone of command and seriousness, before turning on her own heel, her hair swirling about her as she rushed off to the lists, to find Ser Aerion, and tell him about what had just happened. In her mind, she knew it couldn’t be anything else, but still, the very thought troubled her, and made her worry. Magic… it was real, and it was being used here in King’s Landing… this did not bode well, even if it was used for good, there could always be someone who could use it for ill and evil.  

[color=pink][b] The Visenya Wine Sink [/b][/color]

Ser Lorimer sat quietly with his date, the two seated at an outside table shaded by a parasol. Lady Myrielle Hill laughed and smiled at Ser Lorimer, finding him absolutely dashing and roguish. She sipped on her wine, savoring every drop. It was not every day you got to be wined and dined by a noble lord, and one who was so absolutely attractive. Her green eyes drank him in, studying his every crease, wrinkle, rippling muscle, hair, his whole body. The same was for Ser Lorimer, who was infatuated by Lady Myrielle. The two quietly enjoyed their company, snacking on roasted lamb and little mango snack cakes. Their conversation was oddly romantic, as though this were a date rather than a meal with a whore and her client. Wine flowed freely, whilst words danced across the table, embraced hands and a playful foot, these two were perfectly content. To Ser Lorimer and Lady Myrielle, the world around them mattered little, and only the two of them inhabited it. 

Within the tent though, another world brewed and raged. The clanking of tankards, boisterous voices and laughter. Ser Harwin and his two lovely ladies sat in the middle of it all. Drinking, eating, kissing, laughing, overall just enjoying the baser pleasures of life. The had a platter of ribs before them, half eaten, and still being worked on. Their faces covered in grease and sauce, the three couldn’t care less. The smiled and giggled, drinking ale, wine, lemon water, and whatever suited them and Ser Hawin caressed and groped the two women, with them touching and feeling him up in return, smiling and laughing. He couldn’t give two shits in the world other than the fun he was going to have once lunch was finished. Two beautiful women, a full bell, and a tasty glass of ale, well, nothing could be better in this world. 

Across the crowded tables and floor space, Lady Visenya was busy drinking and singing herself. She had chosen to play nursemaid to Lord Bolton, which Ser Harwin found to be a fool of a man and a drunkard. It was one thing to indulge in spirits, to feel a bit warm, but when you drank to oblivion and spilled your stomach, well, you were a drunken sot and hardly worth a blanket made from the butt of a skunk. But, Lord Bolton was still a Lord, and he would no doubt need to be looked after less he get himself into trouble, as most drunken sots did. Ser Harwin turned back to his food, munching happily upon it. 

As he looked up from his food, he watched Lord Bolton speak, or rather, read the man’s lips. A drunk will say stupid, and perhaps hilarious things, so he set his rib down from his mouth, and closely followed the man’s words. At first he wasn’t sure what was said, then by Lady Visenya’s startled and repulsed reaction, Lord Bolton had said it. Ser Harwin laughed heartily, laughing loud and deeply, pointing his rib bone at Lord Bolton as Lady Visenya struggled to react to such a crazy and clearly foolish question. Of course, this led to its own set of consequences, as Ser Harwin startled three tables by him, and of course, setting off a fight as a tankard was knocked over. Roaring with a rack of ribs in his mouth, his right hand, and a tankard in the left, he leapt up and joined the growing brawl, smacking people with his rack of meat, and bashing foolhardy folks with a hard iron tankard filled with a dwindling amount of ale.

As Ser Harwin enjoyed his fun, with his two wenches egging him on, he ended up defeating at least seven men, before being grabbing by the scruff of his collar, and drug towards the exit. He looked to swing, and then stopped, sighing as he finished eating as much food as he could before turning about to follow Lady Visenya. She was red in the face, he could tell… no doubt still embarrassed by Lord Bolton’s drunken request. He laughed allowed, pointing at Lord Bolton, bits of meat flying from his mouth to strike any about him. His two wenches followed shortly behind, no doubt eager to bed such a virile man. Ser Harwin made a ribald comment towards Lord Bolton and Lady Visenya, before laughing once more, “What a way to ask a lady to marry you… start a full on riot in a drinking tent and get her to steal you away… Hahahahaha” Ser Harwin smiled, thinking himself rather clever, but then squinting his eyes as he was led outside. Damn the world, be inside too long, can’t see, outside too long, the same. He sighed, and walked with his party over to where Ser Lorimer sat, who wore a mask of both surprise and annoyance. Well, time to crash the lover’s party, as they would no doubt need to make their way back to Ser Aerion.

[color=gold][b] Ser Aerion’s corner of the Stands [/b][/color]

Ser Aerion sat quietly by himself, his sword laid neatly before his feet on the bench in front of him. He was looking at the fine blade, its craftmenship second to none. An ancient Valyrian blade, named “Poison” by its last owner. The blade did have an odd green tinge to its edges, as though it had been dipped in wildfire or poison. Aerion shrugged, picking the blade back up, and firmly attaching it to his person once more. He felt as though the blade were tainted, for it had been used by a number of cruel and evil men over the years, Pirate Lords of Bloodstone Isle. He had been lucky to kill the last owner of it, taking it for himself. He sighed, looking back out onto the horizon. More jousts, more foolish men and boys playing war. He smiled at that, before turning to be startled by his friend, Lady Cerenna, who was out of breath.

“Lady Lyvia got into trouble again… didn’t she?” Ser Aerion questioned, looking at Cerenna with amusement all across his face. He was getting ready to stand up, when Lady Cerenna stopped him. She placed her hand on his chest, pushing him back to sit, and then sitting herself. She looked about, clearly concerned about what she had to say and speak to Ser Aerion about. Nodding, Ser Aerion smiled, and leaned in close to Lady Cerenna, so that they could speak privately whilst appearing to be exchanging pleasantries. To the outside eyes, it would even appear that these two could be whispering sweet nothings to one another.

With a smile on a face, even with a few laughs and giggles, Lady Cerenna recounted the tale to Ser Aerion. She spoke of the wounds that they all had, the cuts, scrapes, gashes, and so on. The bruises, everything, gone once the Princess had left. Princess Daenyra. Lady Cerenna was sure that she had used magic, that no other possible explanation existed. Aside from the Red God, no other gods had ever intervened in the affairs of man, not even the Seven. Ser Aerion found himself profoundly unsettled, perhaps even afraid. They had all heard the tales of the Red Woman and Lord Stannis, of the Children of the Forest, of the White Walkers and more, but to have an active magic user within the midst of the King’s Landing, was downright unfathomable. Lady Cerenna whispered urgently, her warm breath playing across Aerion’s left ear.

“We must tread carefully here… who is to say that there could not be more users… others who could choose to do harm rather than good. You… we all saw what the Red Priests and Priestesses could do in the Stepstones… how the rebels would rise from the grave…” She was silenced as Aerion moved closer to embrace Cerenna, smiling as a couple of retainers walked by. 

“Don’t speak of it here… not now. Those horrors we faced, the evil and depravity, no, let’s not relive it.” Aerion hissed, smiling as he let Cerenna go. He looked over her face, smiling even while his mind processed the fact that magic was perhaps spreading now, that the old wives’ tales and folk tales would become true. Maybe they weren’t lying about demons and ghouls, but who could be sure these days? He shuddered at the thought of a shade, a black shadow servant of the Lord of Light. Those creatures had wreaked havoc on the counter-insurgency forces of the Stepstones, officers being found with throats slit, gutted, and worse… no, Aerion shook his head, not here.

“Where are the others Lady Cerenna, oh how it would be nice to share in this spectacle of sportsmanship with them.” Ser Aerion smiled, bowing his head to Cerenna, signaling that any further talk would be put on hold. She smiled in turn, bowing her head in acknowledgement, before speaking up.

“Oh, they are on their way, just a bunch of slow pokes and lollygags. No doubt enjoying a few more drinks and bites to eat. You know how they all are. All fun and play rather than work. But they will be here soon enough.” Lady Cerenna smiled radiantly at Ser Aerion, batting her eyes while playing with her hair. She stretched eagerly, before returning her attention back to Ser Aerion and the jousts. She and her friend both now had to wait for the rest of their party to make its appearance. Now was the time for that awkward silence, the void of uninterrupted thought as both processed and recollected what had been said. Magic wasn’t just being used by Rhollor’s faithful, but by others as well now. And while it had been used for good, that same power could be used for evil.

Ser Aerion chuckled as one lord unhorsed another, the fallen knight falling in a crumpled mess in the dirt and dust. He looked on as the two men would then duel, before one would best the other. He rolled his eyes, bored to tears by this drudgery, but played along with it all, offering up his applause, and thankfully being saved by the appearance of his compatriots, one group led by Lady Lyvia, the other by Lady Visenya, who may have had another in tow with her. Ser Lorimer had a beautiful blonde woman with him, whilst Ser Harwin had two women, no doubt the both were wenches by the cut of their clothes and giggling laughter. Ser Aerion couldn’t help but smile, for the sight of his friends was always warming and an occasion to smile. 

“Come, sit, enjoy the closing bouts of horsemanship, watch as the nobles play at war and see who shall be crowned the Queen of Beauty.” Ser Aerion called out, beckoning not only his friends, but Lady Visenya as well to join him. “Be seated among friends and allies, so that we might exchange the gift of gab, if even only for a moment.” He heartily spoke aloud, his tone one of kindness and friendship. Aerion stood, helping Lady Lyvia to her seat, and remaining standing to see what Lady Visenya would do. Either way, be it her choosing to sit, or having to leave, Ser Aerion took the time to speak with her at length, to learn what he could about what had happened since his dutiful tasking with the nobility. He would inquire into the nature of a few other things, smiling and nodding, before letting Visenya go about her business, be it staying, or leaving for other endeavors. 

Though, true to form, at the end of their conversation, Ser Aerion bowed deeply, before rising up and speaking formally to Lady Visenya, “It is always an honor to speak with you, my lady. Thank you for all you have done for my friends and I, for without you, no doubt we would be lost in the sea of people. You are a gracious and kind host, and a very noble women. Please accept my humble thanks and may we be fated to perhaps meet again, should that be to your liking, Lady Visenya.” Aerion stared at Visenya’s purple eyes, his own striking their own distinct color. As he looked at Lady Visenya, he thought a few things, but most pressing, was that she was ever beautiful, and perhaps… no, without a doubt, was more beautiful than the “pure-blooded” Targaryens. They were but cut from the same cloth, and here stood a singularly unique and one of a kind diamond, an amethyst so perfect and stunning that it had no comparison. Sighing, he broke eye contact, allowing Lady Visenya to choose whichever path suited her most.

Soon dinner would be ready, the feast and tables needing to be eaten and filled respectively. Also, there was the matter of the invitation of Princes Daenyra, one that would have to be carefully treaded upon, less a grievous error of etiquette and disrespect be transgressed. Time was the great tell all to the world, and time was what Ser Aerion needed. To sit amongst those allied to a possible witch… a term the common folk referred to female magic users, or to risk offense and sit elsewhere… such difficult decisions to be made. Perhaps if he were lucky, Lady Visenya would insist he sit next to her, and keep him from having to walk the knifes edge he found himself at. May the Seven grant Aerion a break, or who knows what might happen.