Lizzie Grafton never said a word. She never had to; her big brown eyes were reddish auburn in the bright sunlit glow streaming in from the open windows. Alyssa felt as if she could see every thought and emotion in her friend based purely on the inflection of light in her eyes and the subtle changes in facial expression throughout the procession of guests to the meal being served. It was just supposed to be a quick thing. Informal, even, and then Lady Myriah heard about it. The moment Lady Myriah heard about it the event was blown up and apart. Instead of happenning at a reasonable location like, say, Stone or Snow, the elder matriarch of House Waxley suggested it be held at the Eyrie.
The very nature of the place compared to stone halls like Snow and Stone.
Alyssa wasn't telling Lady Myriah no over something so small and simple. Myranda's lady mother would get what she wanted, and Alyssa would tell herself that it was for the best: Lady Myriah was probably right anyway. That or she was trying to fuck Uncle Emmon. But was she trying to get him for the first time? For the latest time? That was where her mind was as she waited. Behind her came the voice she knew wouldn't be far behind.
It was the sweet tone of Lady Myranda Waxley. "Why are you staring? Is my mother being weird with your Lord Emmon again?" Alyssa turned and smiled at Myranda, the girl was all dark features and darker long wavy hair. Her skin was smooth, darker than Lizzie's but only because it was just now spring. The Graftons typically got darker toned, whereas Alyssa was secure in her milk white skin that was going to sky milk head. Unless she burned it. Then it would get pink and angry and peel.
"I'm observing Myri."
Ah, she saw Myranda remember the idea. That's what you do when you're doing that smarter than the Maesters thing you do. Was how Myranda had put it earlier, and it wasn't a completely bad way to try to explain it, especially if you were looking for simplicity. No; Lady Myranda Waxley wasn't a bookish young lady, but she was pretty, boys and men alike just stared at her chest, she was sweet, and she tried really hard.
She was also an amazing friend.
Lizzie chuckled but kept her eyes on the procession. "He's here."
"How's he look?" Alyssa couldn't risk a dramatic turn of her head and attention. Not in front of so many eyes.
Lady Eliza Grafton was her cousin, and maybe closest friend. They didn't have all the same interests, and Lizzie had never been quite as good at numbers and angles as Alyssa was, but they had received very similar educations. They had spent most of their days together since their earliest days. Lizzie wasn't dumb. She wasn't slow. And she knew what to look for, "He looks like he just saw an army he didn't know existed down below the Eyrie on his way up."
"Just how we like our visitors."
Her smile increased, but it wasn't just at the news of Lord Strong's appearance. She smiled at Ser Ronnel from across the grand hall of the Eyrie. He looked unsettled, like he'd rather be on the march. The room smelled of lavender and sage, every candle in the hall was a scented candle, one of the two scents. The garden keepers of the Eyrie had yet to move out several small trees and other larger plants from storing them inside the Eyrie walls during the worst of winter. They had simply removed the linens over them and lined the walls with them. Candles and green plants and the light shimmering off the famed marble of the Eyrie.
A small three minstrel group played quietly, tucked away. The tables were already dressed and awaiting the first course, although wine was already flowing. Myranda had her cup, Alyssa sipped on some, Lizzie had half a cup. All three of them slowly made their way to the raised dais where Lord Emmon was seated with Lady Myriah. Lord Waxley was still at Wickenden. Alyssa took her seat in the center, Lord Emmon to her right, to her left Ladies Eliza and Myranda.
To her immediate left, however, was the open chair and the young Lord behind it. His twisted leg, his pained smile. Larys Strong was already looking road worn but lordly as the Gods would allow him, Seven bless him. "A seat of honor and a standing army guarding the door: Lady Arryn everything they've said about you is ignorance."
Somehow nervous tension got turned into...charm? It was hedge magic, a trick of some kind, or Larys Strong was much smarter than anyone had given him credit before. The bait laid before Alyssa proved too tempting. "Oh?" Up went her voice, curiousity getting the better of her, or at least she was playing at it. Her humor was always so dry, her persona so distant, it was infinitely difficult to tell with Alyssa Arryn.
Part of that was just self defense.
"You're a girl, a sweet one, maybe even a smart one, but still just a young girl."
Alyssa Arryn's sky blue eyes rolled over the marble hall in it's glowing, scented, warmth as the first round of dishes began to roll in: the lemon cakes frosted in sugar, berries and sweet cream, the sweetbreads--all personal favorites among some of the other dishes like the snails in honey and garlic, the chickens, although the salad did look good from where she was sitting...her focus went from that to her wine cup, to her lips on the cup, to the drink, to placing the cup back.
Staying in every moment allowed the thoughts to clear. Better to return to such words as Larys had relayed after a moment than to react to them fresh. "At least they think I'm sweet..." The corners of her pale pink lips curled, brilliant blue eyes glimmered in amusement. She wasn't about to tell him what she really thought about it, but mainly because she had others things in mind. The same things he had in mind now, she figured, as he finally took his seat.
"Odd guest of honor, a cripple younger child who works as a confessor of all things for a Targaryen King."
The reaction from Alyssa was literally instant, "We have no issue with our Targaryen king." The lie came so easy, so fast, there was no thinking involved or hesitation needed.
"You have an army gathered for some purpose, Lady Arryn, and while I was initially just disappointed I wouldn't get a chance to meet the Lioness herself I now must admit I find myself just as curious to ask you why it is you have an army that looks very active and very ready to march. Could this have anything to do with--"
"--oops." The voice of Lizzie Grafton followed the ice cold water spilled in his direction. Larys' twisted foot wouldn't allow a quick escape, leaving him only the fate of getting drenched. Except in that last moment, when the perfurmed Lady Arryn in the blue silk dress that prehaps fit a little too well for a woman unwed and still so young if already a woman grown came reaching across with a rag snatched from a nearby servant.
The servant, Delia, was a mother of two and worked hard or harder than any other servant that Alyssa knew. Of course Delia had been there in that very moment with that very rag. Even if the rag smelled a little like spilled beer it still soaked up the cold water quickly. Alyssa and Lizzie shared a long, hard, look before Alyssa offered Larys a polite little smile and a sweeter tone to match. Neither had missed the way the young Clubfoot, nearly the very same age as her, had looked his way up down Alyssa's body as she leaned over to help him.
Very curious.
"Justice, Lord Strong. I'm going to bring justice to those who were part of the conspiracy to kill my parents and then cover it up. Using information that you gave me. Information I hope that you can continue to provide me. As for the Lady Celena Lannister..." Alyssa's face changed. Her features hardened, but her smile only extended. It was a dangerous, sharp, tone she found herself speaking with. "Play along nicely and you will get your chance to mingle with the lioness, much as you may come to regret it, Lord Strong."
After the lemon cakes and berries with sweet cream Alyssa found an excuse to get up, slipping behind her uncle, and stealing her moment to whisper in his ear from behind, "Lord Larys will not interfere. We move in the morning for Darry. We'll tell Lord Larys along the way and see what he has, by then hopefully Lady Celena returns from King's Landing, or at least sends word."
A quick touch on the back of his shoulder and she was gone, rounding off the dais and bumping with a half silk covered and half exposed shoulder into the the old knight Ronnel who was still trying to hold up the marble wall. "Go sit down, we leave in the morning," words accompanied by big blue eyes with dark fluttering lashes and a smile that was genuinely sweet as it was over the type mockery of sweetness. It was a passing assault, anyway, as she went towards the tables to begin the rounds of speaking to who she needed to speak to while Myranda and Lizzie snuck off.
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