Joane smiled at Isla's comment. Together they walked up the steps arm in arm, and Sigurd had a comment about Isla's teasing comment about how he played poltics poorly. Sigurd reminded Joane that this was an important festival and that it was a huge honor to be invited here, even if it would probably be seen as rude to not invite the Northerners to the tourney.

"Sig, you know I was joking right? I can't so much as lift a pinky inside without it being examined for political leanings. I wanted to joke around out here before we get in to lighten your mood. But, if you're going to be a grumpy gus then I guess then I'll have to be a pretty one. Isla can be second prettiest, don't you think?" Joane said, teasing her brother.

Of course she knew about Arthur Rathmore. Even as she smoothed out her skirts to sit on the bench, she was already thinking about drawing her brother out of his mood. No doubt he was thinking about how Arthur's current condition was similar to his own. She needed him bright and not distracted by the situation. Sympathetic, maybe. Distracted could get them into trouble.

Joane shifted in her seat, leaning a little on Isla. It was half to show that the siblings were close, and half to check her boot for the knife. Things could always turn ugly at a moment's notice -not that she wanted that, it always paid to be prepared- and she'd rather have it easily accessible.

"Isla... how long do you think we'll be here for? After a fortnight of travel I want to move around as much as possible, not sit more. My hand is going to fall off if I'm told that I must fan myself any more to remove lingering travel sickness." Joane whispered, a small smile on her lips. Anyone watching would probably think the two girls were gossiping and discard it.

The corset should probably be making Joane as uncomfortable as Isla, but Joane had found out that having it too tight on her meant that she broke the strings too easily -thanks to the muscle she had put on from training- so she had a it a bit looser. Not too much looser, but enough to make her stand the stupid thing for longer.

Gods above if she ever became Queen she'd ban corsets altogether. They were naught but death traps. Whoever decided it was in fashion needed to be executed by having to wear the stupid thing for a week without taking it off.

Rufus' admirable smirk defused to one of a weary smile as Jaelyn began to behead him for his scandalous activities within the brothel. The squire had always found no trouble in indulging himself within an ounce of fun, every now and then, especially if it was within the royal capital where the women were desirable. Though, personally, he still preferred the ones from the South, if he had a choice.

"I've no time to myself these days, my lady! Certainly, in your noble heart, must you find the kindness to allow a squire his off-time!" Rufus spoke in an eloquent tone of voice, mirroring the manner of speech prevalent among the highest of nobles. It was an accent that he actually detested for its almost-condescending sound, but one that he had no difficulty rendering.

While Jaelyn kept her sullen expression, the corners of Rufus' lips curled upwards into a wide smile, laughing. "I must apologize to Lady Ralei when we return to the tourney. For a lady of your stature to be seen in this... unlucky location, it reeks of dishonor."

Rufus, like his relationship with the other two siblings, found him a close friend and confidante to Jaelyn, as the page-turned squire had become more of such than a young boy tasked with cleaning their rooms and pouring the wine of House Ralei. Many squires dreamed of knighthood and taking the vows of chivalry to wear like their armor, but Rufus had already accomplished his own dream; the company of friends was all the young man needed.

@Ambra

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---

Even in his sickness, Archer Rathmore was a restless boy, and longed to see the tales of past tournaments come to life. The nine-year old boy had ventured from the confines of his bedroom in the Windkeep, against his mother's urges to remain in bed. He had grown bored, and the sight from his window was incomparable to actually being there.

Along the streets of the Higher Cities, it was a bit of a bizarre sight to see a member of the Kingsguard wheeling Archer along in a wagon, searching for the tournament grounds. "My lord, hasn't your father ordered-"

"Well, I'm ordering you to take me to my father!" Archer interrupted the knight abruptly in a childish manner, causing the man to sigh and continue with the little lord's command.

His light brown eyes circulated as they stopped at the statue of the Andals, scanning the area of the Houses for his father. When he spotted his father, Archer tapped the knight's gauntlet erratically, pointing towards the pavilion.

Weaving through the crowds of spectators and participants alike, Archer was taken from the wagon and carried into the arms of the Kingsguard, who walked through the tables of each respective House. Stopping near the steps leading to the upper seat where the King sat, the boy waved. "Father!" he called out, catching Soren's attention as a surprised look came about the old man's features.

"Archer?" Soren tilted his head, motioning the boy to come forward. Archer told the Kingsguard to let him down, and when he did, the boy took a few steps up before he fell forward. Another Kingsguard caught the little lord, and helped the boy up to his father.

"Your mother told you to stay in your room," Soren reminded Archer as the boy excitedly placed his hands against his father's lap.

Archer frowned, coughing. "I couldn't miss the tournament of the three regions, father," he explained.

Soren sighed, closing his eyes momentarily before re-opening them to smile down at his son. He affectionately ran a hand along Archer's cheek, tapping his shoulder and pointing to Elizabeth. "Go sit with your mum," he told the boy.

@HushedWhispers @Hippocamp (whoever is at a table at the tournament area like House Ralei)

---

---

Smiling at his sister's response, Sigurd found it difficult to hold to the positive expression for too long. "Of course," he did not look to Ser Wyeth Mallory as the knight went off to the tournament before they would go themselves. The young man took a deep breath as he awaited for his father and mother to finish their business, standing off to the side and observing the Windkeep with admiration.

@RainDash @HushedWhispers @Ellion

At Rufus' witty comment, Jaelyn's own features became more distraught. She hoped that the young squire would not get in trouble with anyone of higher importance. Then again, he hadn't gotten in a severe amount of trouble in a long while. Maybe he wouldn't get in trouble this time around, either. It wasn't even that late to begin with...

The blonde's brow furrowed even deeper than before. Even though she felt frustration bubble up deep within her, she couldn't help but shake her head at his comments. It was impossible for her to be truly upset with Rufus, after all. "You should stop chittering like a sparrow and come with me," Jaelyn's voice was firm for a second, but her serious expression quickly melted away into a smile. "And there is no reason to be concerned over my well-being, especially around these parts. Not when I have such a noble squire by my side. He will protect me, correct?"

@Solace



"Ah, yes," Wyeth perked up at the mention of his name. Geldyr Snow, wasn't it? Then he was a bastard, and one that claimed to be from the loins of Lord Karlear. Unlike other people, he did not appear to be impacted by the fact that he was in the presence of someone who was disliked by his own father. He himself was rejected by his own father, only because he had sinned greatly by being born. The mention of his father brought back sour memories, and he shook his head.

The taller man crossed his arms as he observed Geldyr, his grin remaining on his face. "So you will be participating in the tournament," Wyeth commented, bobbing his head up and down as he continued to study Geldyr. "I can only wish you good luck during the competition."

@POOHEAD189

Geldyr Snow

Geldyr sliced the air before him, eyes flaring with a controlled ferocity as he did so. His manner always went back to amiable when he turned away from his concentration however, just as it did now with this impressive man before him. He gave Wyeth a nod, as if he was a long time comrade, or a fellow who had shared a hardship with Geldyr. "My thanks. Are you going to participate?" the Bastard asked. He gave Wyeth a considering look, knowing that whoever this was before him was a Lord or Knight of high caliber. "Pardon, I know not who you are, though I feel as if I should."

"I forbid it."

"It's just a tourney-"

"That all the Houses are coming to see. Even the Northerners are here and usually they're all too busy wrestling bears to care about the rest of the world. Besides, Squires here are meant to clean the knight's armor and swords. Not to fight."

"But I could-"

"No," the knight said, folding his arms over his barrel-like chest as if to signal to Jace that the conversation was completely over. "Now go finish polishing my armor before I have to put up with any more womanly whining from you."

Jace glared at him as he left the room, and she stuck out her tongue at him like a child. She sighed, standing up to try and explore the town a bit more before the tourney started. She'd already done the armor and sword polishing, opting for work over sleep so that she could wheedle the knight into letting her try and fight. It didn't work out in her favor, but now she had some time to kill. Even if he could complain about how she did the polishing, she'd probably be long gone. It'd delay her knighthood more, but at the rate she was going with making friends with the other knights, she'd get recommended for knighthood sooner or later.

It was all just a big long waiting game and she hated it. Wait until this happens. Now wait until this fortunate thing happens. Could be five years could be never, and Jace wasn't eager to wait too much longer. Eventually she'd get discovered and she at least wanted to make it to knighthood before she got executed for being evil or whatever.

So she went out into town, hands in her pockets and whistling while people moved around her. She liked the pace of the city, it was always something exciting as a opposed to the castle or the village she grew up in. Really, village was overstating it, but that's the only word that came to mind to describe it.

Here, she could blend into the crowd if she wanted. Just another face among millions, but eventually she'd be a knight and get all the perks to go with it. Death was certainly going to happen, and whether it was to enemy or execution didn't matter so much as getting to be a knight and pulling one over on those stupid nobles who insisted that women couldn't. It was stupid. Women probably saw more blood in their entire lives than men did in one war.

She looked over a butcher's stand, dangling all sorts of meat to try and attract the visiting nobles and busy servants. It wasn't something she wanted to buy, but it gave her purpose to look over all the various items available for sale. Plus, it was far enough out of the castle that the knight couldn't chase her down and yell at her yet.

Edwin descended from the castle keep into the grounds below with a single knight and a young servant following behind him, glancing around; The tourney that would soon come had brought people from far and wide. The ale would flow, the whores would be sore and the inns full... and there were always those who went slightly too far with their spending and left themselves bankrupt.

Harvest time for the moneylenders.

Edwin grinned just thinking about the gold that would flow into his pockets from this event- And he intended to place a few bets to augment that cash flow too. He could already hear the coins clinking as he counted them. And the king would be pleased when the treasury was full to the brim with shining stacks of gold.

He glanced over the crowd without a second thought, sorting through a few faces and taking notes of them. Maybe Ser Renault would be a good bet; a seasoned jouster who had unseated many opponents in his time. The payout would likely be low, of course; No, he wanted something... riskier. Ser Glenroy maybe; He might be able to do well so long as he didn't get drunk like he usually did before hand.

Hm. Maybe someone fresh, a younger knight; it would be Ser Stanley's first tourney, though Edwin had watched some of his practice and wasn't entirely convinced.

"Ser Bertram, who are you going to bet on?" Edwin asked the knight on his left, glancing to him. The large man paused for a few seconds before responding in a gruff voice

"The only way to win some games is not to play, my lord." The knight replied

"Oh but where's the fun in that? You are bore sometimes." Edwin said with a mock sigh, proceeding further down into the city below as he moved towards the tourney grounds.

"I'd bet if I had any money spare, my lord." The young servant said quietly, causing Edward to glance his way

"I'll cover the costs of one for you, gods know you've served well enough." Edwin replied with a small smile before looking onwards again.

"Why, thank you, my lord!" The boy cried in surprise before falling silent again as he realised that he had been perhaps too loud.

He paused in one of the squares, glancing towards a butcher's stall. He paused for a moment and moved towards it; Some nice venison would not go amis for his chambers tonight, he'd need something to eat as he went over the records. Speaking of such things, he'd have to collect that case of wine he had ordered on the way down to the tourney ground, though he'd need someone to carry it as he certainly wasn't interested in doing so and nor did he wish his bodyguard to be hindered. And then there was that meeting he would have to arrange later to deal with a not so small debt problem which was getting rather out of hand; He wasn't particularly fond of people trying to worm their way out of their debts. So many things to do at a time like this, people to meet and deals to settle and problems to solve.

The bets could wait, this gave him more time to work out what bet to make regardless.

He circled around and examined the stalk for a few moments, glancing over the assembled meats before looking up to the butcher "I'll take the chop from behind you." He said simply, placing a gold coin down on the counter and modding as the butcher hurriedly unhooked the meat and placed it into a small sack before offere ing it to the lord, who motioned to his servant. The young boy took the bag and quickly set off, already knowing what was expected of him.

The young lord paused for a moment and glanced around before his eyes game to rest on a rather boyish looking young woman. Too clean and well fed to be your average commoner but she certainly didn't look like a noble girl. Either way, she would definitely be fit enough to help him. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention

"Do excuse me; would you care to help me carry something? I'll pay you well." Edwin said with a smile as he drew another gold coin from his pocket, holding it up in the air to illustrate his point before slicing it carelessly away again "It won't take too long, don't worry, I just need you to carry something from further along this square down to the tourney ground and you look strong enough to carry it without it bothering you too much."

@RainDash

Ulfar's head hurt. Or, to be perfectly accurate, most of him hurt. It was the mark of a night well spent, he reasoned, but his reasoning didn't cure the ailment of an awful hangover. The Lord of Penkarth fondly remembered a time when he could drink himself into oblivion and still get up for the hunt in the morning but alas, he was no longer a young man and alcohol caught up to him much to quickly for his liking.

A bump in the road brought a fierce grumble deep from his chest to which the horse under him responded with a sarcastic whinny. It was bad when even the horses were mocking him. Frowning, he stared at his clothing for a moment in dumbfounded confusion. It was considerably hotter than any other time he had been in the Windkeep before so his wife insisted that he chose a regalia that was a tad bit lighter than what he was used to. It was a horrible feeling - he was used to layers upon layers of furs so to have something that was relatively easy to carry around was an unwelcome sentiment. He berated himself for letting her convince him that such a thing was a fond idea but nevertheless, he did feel a lot cooler in the afternoon sun. Speaking of which, she had remained relatively quiet for the majority of the trip. Ulfar wasn't particularly in the mood for talking but he disliked when his wife was silent; it usually meant she was planning something. Scratching his beard subconsciously, he quietly remembered to speak to her later.

Mumbled annoyance from Joane brought him back to the world around him and he realised that they had reached the end of their journey. Dismounting, he stretched with a hearty yawn. Ulfar wasn't a very big fan of those who didn't see eye-to-eye with the Northmen but he made a special exception for Soren Rathmore. The King commanded respect without having to usher a word and his fondness of the North made their relationship somewhat relaxed. Once again scratching his beard, he peeked at his more rebellious daughter. "The King summoned us here, Joane; all of us. We're a proud people but we're loyal. Plus they brew some fine mead in the West. Just don't tell your Mother I said that!" His voice was a collective grumble and much to his dismay, he turned to find his Lady Wife. "Agh! I was just fondly remarking that they should be on their best behaviour and listen to their lovely mother!" He confessed, a sly grin creeping onto his features.

Emmaline had always enjoyed traveling. It showed within the features of her face with every smile she had smiled and every laughter that escaped through her parted lips. She was oddly happy to be riding to the West with her husband and children but they were loyal people of the North, so it wasn't all that bad. The previous night, she knew that Ulfar had enjoyed much more than he could handle and his body was hurting. A slight smirk spread among her feminine facial features as she stared over at him. 'Hmph.' She thought to herself while staring out the window of the carriage now.

Once they had arrived and made their way out the carriage, Emmaline gleamed as it felt good to be back in the Windkeep once again. She had broke off from the group slightly, going over and getting a sneak peek of the Knights that were participating in the tournament today. Emmaline needed to know who she could bet on and who she couldn't. After catching a small glimpse, she made maneuvered herself back by her husband's side, smiling. "Oh, sure you were, dear. I can see behind that grin of yours." She said while her hand caress over his face and beard softly.

Ulfar was an admittedly simple man with simple desires which made him very easy to manipulate and no one exploited that more than his Lady wife. His grin faded to a soft smile as he watched her, dazed almost. The years had been much kinder on her than they were on him. "Someone has to tell them!" He grumbled, somewhat equivalent to a young child before he looked off. "Too many princes round ere! Joane wouldn't grace one even if her life depended on it but Isla will be in her element. I swear, I'll tell Soren himself if I have to - no princes round my Isla!" His eyes followed the collection of his children as they wandered. His daughters were at a good age to marry and Sigurd was healing well and shaping up to be a good Lord. They were growing much too fast.

"Aye, I suppose I have to let them go sometime..." He mumbled sadly, his hand finding Emmaline's hand as he watched them disappear into the crowds. Barely a moment passed before he rounded on her, his characteristically facile frown taking over. "No princes though!"

Emmaline looked at Ulfar with a fair smile as she knew that she had a certain affect on him. It was a nice thing to know and she exploited it every single time she had the moment to. Emmaline shook her head at her husband then chuckled at his words. "Oh, Ulfar, if they marry a Prince from the Windkeep, that wouldn't be so bad. I mean, look at this place." She waved her hand around, pointing her slender fingers at various parts of their surroundings. "Yes, we'll have to let them go sometime. After all, my family eventually let me go so that I can marry you, didn't they?" She knew she had him right there with that comment and with that question.

Even though their marriage did cause a slight rebellion in the North, she thought it was bad omen but they made it this far so that thought wasn't in the slightest of her mind anymore. Emmaline eyed Ulfar again, shaking her head. "Ulfar, stop it. Our daughters have grown into responsible young women and if a prince decides they want to court, let them court. You can't watch over them forever." Emmaline bluntly told her husband as she breathed calmly now then looked back at him. "Sorry, dear. But I guess I am afraid of losing them, too. But Sigurd on the other hand, he can marry any female he so chooses. Well, a princess anyway." Emmaline said softly while looking out ahead, waiting for the events to begin.

Jaelyn seemed to find Rufus a jester of sorts, to which the squire held no protest. The young man looked between the princess and the other male, joined by a younger girl. They had simply watched their exchange, and continued to do so as they observed silently. It unnerved Rufus, slightly.

"He will," the squire nodded, taking a few steps away from Jaelyn. "But the poor man needs coin. What's a knight without armor?"

Rufus had been extremely fortunate to become a vassal to House Ralei, though as with all squires, he had a distinct lack of a salary as an envoy for the House. His tutelage had been enough for him to secure a paying job in the Higher Cities, and slowly, the young man was building up his stash of golden foxes.

Obviously, to Jaelyn, he was only joking. Even if he was not being paid, Rufus was sworn to protect the people of House Ralei; he was no sellsword, bartering his loyalties to the highest bidder. "Let us return to the event before your mother desires my head on a pike."

@Ambra @Wernher

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---

When his father and mother had disembarked from their horses and finished their discussion, Sigurd was prompted by a maester alongside his family that their attendance was duly necessary, as they were late arrivals. The Northern bannermen dispersed as necessary, while the Lords of each House and their families followed the leading maesters to the tournament grounds.

Sigurd looked to his sisters. "It's time to go," he said, following his parents through the city of the Windkeep. As they weaved around a fountain at the town square, the young man walked on with his hands held together behind his back, feeling him and his family catch the eye of many. They were the Great House of the North, after all; they were easily recognizable, and truthfully, it made him slightly uncomfortable.

After a bit of walking, the scenery and environment changed to that of a large field, on the opposite end of the city. Sigurd was impressed by the gathering of the diverse continent, receiving many cheers as they were granted a clear path to the pavilion. Like most of the architecture, it was gilded and slightly elevated, likely built atop of a hilly portion that the West was known for.

"Ulfar Lear!"

A distinctive voice, authoritative and reminiscent of the North, shook Sigurd from his thoughts as they were stepping into the pavilion. "Your Grace," he uttered instinctively as the King of Estiala rose from his makeshift throne of a chair, and personally greeted his parents. A younger boy sat in the lap of an older woman, presuming them to be the Queen and Prince.

Soren Rathmore had always been a friend to the North, as Sigurd learned of the king's history. The King had been raised under their grandfather, and so, Soren took kindly to the virtues of the North. "Come, Euric!" he motioned a hand towards Lord and Lady Ralei, smiling.

@RainDash @Ellion @Wernher @HushedWhispers @NarcissisticPotato [@any other character in pavilion]

Joane pretended to be stung by her father's words, mock horror at none of the princes wanting her. "Father, you are too cruel! They'd grace my presence, but I'm certain that they'd find I'm too much of a person for them to stand me for long. I think the one that will have the hardest time finding a partner will be our dearest brother, if I may be honest. Unless he marries a lady from the North, they will both be too passive to do much."

And with that Sigurd let out a curt 'lets' go' and marched the family towards the palace. As they entered, his majesty rose to greet the Northerners. Joane did a curtsy and murmured a quick, "your grace".

"Your family looks to be in good health today, your majesty. I'd hope that the tourney goes as well as your perceived health, but I'm afraid that nothing can be quite that good." Joane said with a polite smile, clearly trying to butter up the king with kind words. While their son was sick, it would be good to say that they looked healthy, even if they actually weren't. A Southerner trick, certainly, but preening your allies' ego never hurt anyone.



"Do excuse me; would you care to help me carry something? I'll pay you well. It won't take too long, don't worry, I just need you to carry something from further along this square down to the tourney ground and you look strong enough to carry it without it bothering you too much."

Jace should be impressed at the coin, she figured, but she'd stolen far more than that from the knight's purse. Eh, it was spending money and something to do at the very least. Plus, she bet she could make his eyes pop out of his head by saying that she was a squire and carried heavier for the sake of her knight. He'd thought that she'd give up on carrying such heavy things. She just kept at it, and soon she was stronger than him due to his continued pigheadedness and idiocy.

"You got it sir! What do you need carried? It can't be any heavier than my knight's plate armor for the tourney, so I'm pretty sure you got lucky in picking your errand boy." Well that could have been done with a bit more tact, but whatever. It got the point across. "Say mister, you were talking about betting on knights earlier? I'd bet on none of 'em. They're not going to go full out unless you know that they have something to lose besides face. So they're not going to try their hardest here. They'll all look flashy, but don't be fooled. I've seen them do better when they're not showing off."

---

Ar was pleased to see more guests arriving. It was just what he wanted to see. More faces from far across the lands come to dine in the company of the King and watch metal scrape into metal as the joust would go on. Almost as exciting to him as the people were the horses arriving, the swiftest breeds each of the houses could pick. He was looking forward to his next chance to ride, though he was glad he could become relish the headiness of intoxicant and celebration for the time being.

Ar maintained his conversation with his Queen, inclining his head a little as he spoke, causing his hat to cast shade over his brow and upper eyelids. ”Yes my Queen, though not a Rathmore lad… My girl has an interest herself in someone, and I don’t feel the need to marry her in a ploy for power. Better that she explores her own interests for now since her duty to her family is essentially fulfilled. She brings joy to our faces, ever since the day she was born, and what more could we ask of her? She’s hardly had time to know even half of the joys or perils of this world. Though at times it seems time is running away from us…” Another inevitable poke at the hours waning away for all involved here. Ar couldn’t help himself, everyone in his family was far too patient. Though here and there was the one who would become impatient, and end up sowing discord for it… Ar ran through a list in his head in the blink of an eye, documenting the position of his fellow Rathmore’s and what they were up to that day. Like picturing planets revolving around the sun, all aspiring to usurp it's position at the center. He thought to himself. It was the Spymaster’s duty to pick up on whispers, and more often than not what one would whisper contains their greatest ambitions. Ar moved his sleeves further up his arms and drizzled sauce from a gravy boat onto his stuffed meats.

@HushedWhispers