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The Tyrells were incredibly rich. Perhaps an obvious statement for a family that had never hidden their wealth but nevertheless. They were used to comforts and the attendance at a tourney would do little to prevent their continued lives of ease. Their extensive entourage had meandered up from Highgarden at a leisurely pace, stopping at inns when desired and on one occasion having to double back when their Lord conveniently forgot their bard was still napping in the sunshine. He had still been asleep when they had found him, several of the soldiers hiding their laughter at the crown of daisies Oak had fashioned for himself. As it was, they had thankfully timed their journey well and arrived at the tourney with plenty of time to spare. 

After several groans from their Lord and daisy crowns made, their vast collection of tents had been set up. It was more akin to a small village, each tent a different shade of green, looking from afar like small hillocks. Flowers had been brought up to Summerhall, some to give to the Lady Dyanna herself but most to adorn their campsite. The sweet smells filled the air with the scent of roses, tulips and lillies, masking the stench that only came with a gathering so large. Oak had made it his duty to hand out flowers to passersby, until he had promptly been told to cease, whilst Leyla herself had overseen the delivery of flowers to the castle. It was a trifling gesture but one she felt she needed to make.

The largest tent of all was of course reserved for the Lord Paramount himself. Partitioned into several rooms, the most sizeable one was pleasantly decorated. The earlier spoken of flowers were dotted about, accompanied by plush cushions of every colour and size. Soft drapes of silk hung from the ceiling, wafting gently in the breeze, providing a sense of privacy and intimacy. A large chaise lounge sat in pride of place, carted up from the Reach despite its heavy weight. A well built wooden table had been set up nearby, chairs dotted about, brought solely for any meetings that may...or more likely, may not, take place. Any who passed by the tent would hear the euphonious sounds of singing, the voice that sung the words undeniably beautiful, fingers passing over the lute with practiced ease. Even though bards were plentiful at the tournament many stopped for a moment to listen, drawn by the unique lyrics that spilled from one witty mouth...

[I]A lord of flowers, a lord of woe
For his quench is not parched
And there are many a foe
His goblet tilts over
And the wine a spilleth!
Oh no he has saved it 
What a wonderful--ah, fuck!-[/i]

The honey-toned narration was abruptly interrupted as the goblet came flying towards the brunette balladeer. It came at surprising speed and force yet he managed to jump out of its careening path, narrowly avoiding the splatter of crimson wine on his doublet. Oak did not miss a beat before his hands moved to strum his hand-carved lute once more, far used to having to avoid much more lethal flying objects. [I]Now I have to confess...[/i] He sung playfully, [i]That my boots are a mess-[/i] 

"If you don't cease your infernal singing Oak, I am going to personally find a way to revive a dead dragon and then feed you to it limb by infuriating limb." Garrett snapped as he moved to lay back on his seat once more, an arm lazily slung behind his head, dark brown eyes narrowed in a withering stare at the bard in question. He paid no mind to the droplets of wine that had indeed landed on Oaks leather boots, instead lamenting the loss of his limited supply. 

"Now, now. You surely must be the only sour face at this entire tourney. I think we all know who is to blame for forgetting half of our wine supplies-" Oak said pointedly, bending over to try remove some of the stain with a piece of cloth. It did little to improve matters.

"Yes. I remember [i]very[/i] clearly." Garrett muttered, barely able to contain his fury. "I remember a certain foolish bard insisting that [i]he[/i] could keep an eye on the wine and said bard also losing over half of everything we brought. How in the name of the seven does someone lose wine!?" 

"Ah yes..." Oak paused. "It was me wasn't it. Give me a few hours and I'm sure I can charm the Redwynes into--"

"No. You damned fool, I am going to-"

"Quarreling again?" A soft voice called from outside the tent, interrupting the tirade of insults that would have been sure to spill from Garretts mouth. As it was the intrusion had been made by his sister, who offered the guards a polite smile as she entered, holding the fine swarthes of emerald green silk aside whilst she peered at the lord and his bard. "I do not think there are any in the whole of Westeros who bicker as much as you two." She teased gently, stepping into the welcoming and cool shade of the large tent. "Someone is going to suspect that you have made a [i]friend[/i] Garrett."

This prompted a frown from the eldest Tyrell and a bright smile from Oak. She moved to embrace the bard, the action more familiar than would be expected but to most of the children he was practically one of their own. And by the time they moved apart, Leyla was laughing. Oak tended to make a different animal impression everytime one of the Tyrells hugged him. This time it had been of a goat...it was eerily similar to the real thing. 

"You must stop doing that!" She said, shaking her head. "Or everyone will think we truly keep farmyard animals in our tent."

"And miss seeing you smile? Never!" Oak replied, holding a hand to his chest with a dramatic flair.

"Yes, yes. We all know that you used to live in a barn." Garrett drawled, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. He made no attempt to sit up, instead motioning for a servant to bring him a new goblet. 

"Actually I lived [i]near[/i] a barn. My parents were able to afford a rather quaint cottage."

"You're mistaking me. I [i]was[/i] referring to your home." The lord muttered, disdain dripping from every word as he took a large swig of replenished wine. Leyla and Oak shared a look. Though the Paramount of the Reach had never been one to mince his words, he appeared to be in a particularly foul mood today. Oak tried and failed to - erratically and with a lot of gesticulating - act out his loss of the wine supplies but only succeeded in confusing the young girl further. Eventually they gave up, turning to face Garrett who was looking increasingly murderous.

Leyla took a seat beside her brother, straightening out her gowns skirt before shifting to offer Garrett a hesitant smile. "Everything appears to be in order. It seems we have a lot of vassal houses in attendance and I was thinking perhaps it would be a good opportunity to work on our relationships with them. I do fear we have been neglecting them since..." Leyla trailed off, her face falling. "Well, anyway, we have all been rather busy this past year I suppose."

Garrett sighed loudly. "You can say it Leyla. Since father is no longer around to charm them, everyone is terribly unhappy. They live in the most bountiful and populous area of Westeros. If they are not happy with that then nothing I can do will satisfy them."

"If you were just to speak to them. It might do something to ease their concerns..." She pleaded softly, eyes widening in unease of her own.

"Did grandmother ask you to lecture me so?"

"Please, brother-"

"Okay fine." He muttered, keen to finish the conversation as he glared into the last dregs of wine clinging to the polished bottom of his goblet. "I will consider it." Leyla simply nodded in reply, moving to leave the tent before Garrett held up a hand embellished by several fine silver rings. "Oh sister...before you go. You should meet with the Lannisters today. I'm sure you won't be able to miss their tent, it's usually garish enough."

"Oh...of course." She answered hesitantly. "Though may I ask why?"

"You are to marry one of them...Loreon? Yes, that's the one. Anyway grandmother insisted that it was my duty to tell you, though it is all rather a bore." He waved a dismissive hand at the thought before standing, traipsing out of the tent and leaving his sister to contemplate this unexpected news. She stood still as a statue and it was all Oak could do to offer her a small smile & a squeeze of her shoulder before following in the shadow of the young lord, almost tripping in his haste to catch up. Overtaking Garrett, he turned so he was facing him, walking backwards whilst keeping the same pace. Anyone else would have sensed the dark waves of displeasure rolling off the oldest Tyrell but Oak was either utterly oblivious or foolishly brave. He tucked his hands into his pockets, opening his mouth a few times before finally speaking. "If I may offer one tiny, miniscule, trifling piece of advice?" 

Garrett remained silent, which the bard took as his cue to continue. 

"You could have broken the news more gently."

"First of all, it is none of your business.' Garrett muttered. 'Secondly, my sister has never expressed any desire to enter into marriage and she would take the announcement badly no matter how [i]I[/i] put it. I was simply creating a clean wound, one which will heal more quickly."

"But..."

"No buts. I am already driven to irritation by the mere thought of political alliances and now I desire to drink myself into a comfortable stupor. So, you can either join me in silence or find someone else to annoy." He raised an eyebrow nonchalantly, walking ahead without waiting for an answer. Oak pouted and folded his arms against his chest but did not leave his lords side, the pair strolling towards the hustle and bustle that was flowing as if a torrent of water (or wine) from the Redwynes pavillion.

[hider=tl;dr]Garrett hates singing, Leyla finds out about a surprise marriage proposal and tries to persuade the Lord Paramount to appease his vassal houses, Oak misplaced half their wine supplies[/hider]