Gatehouse Planning

Gatehouse Planning
Summary: Last-minute planning and safechecking are briefly interrupted by the arrival of Prince Samwell the afternoon before his highness' company leaves for Brivey.
Date: 30/10/2013
Related: Summons and Summons Too, The Backup Plan, Caravan Insurance
Samwell Gauvain Jaren Myrana 

Wolveshire Castle - Gatehouse
Solid iron and wood gates stand at both ends of the long the tunnel running between the main courtyard and the main road toward Wolveshire. An iron portcullis can be lowered behind the gates, adding a second obstacle that can be only be raised by accessing the mechanisms from the floor above. Both arrow slits and pitch holes dot the ceiling, allowing the guards above to attack invaders throughout the tunnel.

A handful of paces away from the courtyard-side gate, a door in the wall leads to a winding stone stair accessing guardhouse above.


Gauvian had sent a request for Myrana to meet him at the Gatehouse. He sits astride Strider, with Bethany on her horse. Both of them armed and armored. Jaren had gone ahead to the Inn to gather the last of the supplies for the trip to round up the armsmen. He rolls a shoulder, and looks over to Bethany, who was braiding her hair in the saddle. The guard on duty looked at the two of them and nodded to them as Gauvain says to the man, "If anybody calls after me, inform them I will be back soon. Just a quick trip to the River Fort and the Point, then we'll be back."

"Aye M'Lord."

Riding up from the town, Myrana D'Armaz appears soon enough in the company of a maid, dressed in a warm kirtle of maroon and black, gold discs flashing in the coal black of her hair. There's a little package in the lap of her skirts as she rides sidesaddle, kept there by a gloved hand as she guides her horse with the reins in the other.

She smiles as she draws from the bright autumn sunshine into the dappled shade beneath the porticullus' teeth, letting her maid (a rather old woman on a deliate palfrey who has not managed to keep up with the old charger's longer paces) catch up.

"Good afternoon Bethany," she greets, blue eyes dancing. "Ser Tarris. I heard you were looking for me."

"I did." Gauvian says evenly. He slides off Strider and walks over to Myrana where he bows slightly. "I did." He says evenly. "I was making sure we were set for the supplies." He says.

Bethany rolls her eyes on the horse. "He means he wanted an excuse to see you." She mouths the words. Not wanting to get stabbed by her father. But she giggles. This causes a look from Gauvian with a raised eyebrow as if the girl was insane.

Myrana cants her head to the side a little hearing that, but as Gauvain dismounts and stands by her saddle she smirks, and unhooking her slippered foot from the stirrup iron reaches down for his hand. With a whisper of cashmere skirts, she slips down to the ground with his assistance, leaving the parcel she brought up on the lower pommel of the sidesaddle. The gold discs that hang from her ears, set with each a beryl in the center like a dark red eye, wink and flash in the filtered light.

"I have the manifest here," she says, drawing out a rolled paper from her sleeve. Starting to unroll it, she glances past the knight to ehr friend, catching the end of something she was mouthing. Giving her a puzzled look that near echoes Gauvains', she then shakes her head. "We didn't have everything that you wanted with us. Markys had only brought those things which the Bandits claimed on the last trip." She swallows down the memory, but her eyes merely flicker on the list. "But the others we were able to locate here. You're fortunate that you caught us, we were meaning to leave a little early to reach a favourite campsite."

Myrana's maid Sylvie finally catches up on her little dun palfrey, red in the face and looking very cross that her charge got so far ahead of her and is speaking with that obnoxious Knight.

Gauvain nods once and looks to the manifest. "Excellent. I'll make sure the wagons are ready, for when we depart." He smiles slightly and then runs a hand through his hair. "Be careful. No bandits this time okay?"

Myrana blushes a little, shooting a look up at the knight. "I am the soul of caution, Ser Tarris."

"Oh what a lie," mutters Sylvie.

Myrana ignores her nursemaid and adds: "I keep meaning to ask you," keeping her voice light, but just a little bit quieter so that Sylvie might not hear. "Where are your holdings, Ser Tarris? You never told me. My brother Markys is intent to send a crate of locusts. I told him I would inquire."

"I'm fairly sure any bandits will think twice about attacking a party this large and well-armed." Sir Jaren Cassomir's voice calls out as he rides into view, flanked by a handful of men. He inclines his head towards Myrana, favoring her with a polite smile before adding, "The rest of the complement I sent to scout the road ahead. They will meet you at the mouth of the Anderling Vale." Which should be a fair distance before any camping they'd do tonight. He turns his attention to Gauvain and adds, "All is in readiness."

Myrana looks up as Ser Jaren rides up, and smiles warmly, lifting a hand in greeting. "Good afternoon, Ser Jaren! You look well!" Much like Bethany, Myrana is unable but to hold the opinion that Jaren is unfairly handsome, though she is an entirely different beast from her younger friend, and can keep these opinions to herself. "There's colour in your cheeks. Did you take my suggestion about the ginger with your draught?"

Gauvain snerks and reaches into a saddlebag. He pulls out a rolled parchment and unrolls it. Pointing at the map he says evenly, "Here." His finger taps the map, indicating a village stenciled on the map. "That is Griffon Point. My … Home." He shrugs a shoulder.

Bethany looks ot her friend, gestures to the Knight, gestures to her, back to the Knight. Makes loves dovey expressions.

Gauvain, oblivious to the goings on, nods. "Bethany will take you to the camp Ser Cassomir just mentioned." He nods to jaren and says, "Excellent. My armsmen are waiting just outside the city, camped. They're ready to go for our little trip with the Prince."

Myrana looks over at Bethany with the soulful expression of a nun at heart who has no idea what she's implying.

"Oh! That is right on one our river routes," Myrana remarks, looking at the map. A softness touches her pretty face and she smiles a little, brushing the point on the river with a finger. "Its a beautifull area. You're blessed, I think."

There's a little commotion nearby as some commoners assemble to flock to a small group of blue-clad guards with the Prince himself in the middle, dealing with whatever requests the commoners have.

"Just enjoying the brisk morning air, Mistress D'Armaz." Jaren replies, still smiling, though it does turn -just- a touch rueful. "Though I did try the particular draught you mention and found it to my liking, thank you." He reaches up and hides a humored smile with a show of stroking his moustache and beard when Bethany makes her gestures behind Gauvain's back, but of course also remains silent on the matter. "It is indeed lovely country." He would know, given that what was once his own family's holdings share a border with it.

Nodding to Jaren Gauvain rolls up the map and moves to put it back into his saddlebag. He says, "Yes, it really is. The cliffs facing the river are especially pretty. White, with white soft sand beaches. The forest is also very nice, and has plenty of amenable game." He shrugs. "Certainly can't argue." He turns back to Myrana and nods. "Good. Stay safe then."

Bethany gestures to the Kngihts, then to Myrana and mouths, "He wanted to see yooooooou." Makes a love dovey gesture again. Futters her eyelashes.

"I like it myself— I've never had any fondness for the beer my brothers like, and so when we're on the road I bring with me ginger and tea…" Myrana pauses, and looks past the knights, hearing the commotion. "…Oh! Ah…" She tucks the rolled parchement back up into her sleeve and glances at Bethany. "Bethany, I've brought you some portyguls— what?" She peers at her. "He wanted to sell jewels?"

Samwell Taniford breaks free from the little group once the usual empty promises to the peasantry have been made about lower taxes and better health care, smiling when he sees the small group nearby. "Fluttering your eyelashes at me, Mistress Bethany?", he teases the girl, then bows to the adults. "Sir Gauvain, Sir Jaren, Mistress…?" Myrana draws a blank look. The first two blue guards meanwhile catch up with their runaway prince, looking a tad grumpy

Jaren performs the best horseback-bow he can manage, leaning forward a bit and inclining his head, "Your Highness. You remember Mistress Myrana D'Armaz? She briefly joined our last expedition after some unpleasantness in Rikton." Jaren gestures between Myrana and Samwell. After a moment he adds, "Our complement is ready to depart on your order, Highness. We have more-than-adequate supplies and the men and horses are well-rested."

The other girl nearly swoons and falls off her saddle at being addressed in suhc a manner by /the Prince./ Sing the word, THE PRINCE, and you have how Bethany is thinking.

Gauvain turns and bows to the Prince. "Your Highness. All is in readiness." He nods in agreement to Jaren.

Myrana turns with a murmur of skirts as the prine approaches. She curtseys deeply, whatever questions she was about to press Bethany with swept rapidly to the back of her mind. "Your highness," she greets, trying to keep the embarrassment from her face. "Your knights ah— they saved my life, and that of my maid on the road to Rikton."

"Of course, I remember, Mistress.", Samwell offers his most charming smile to Myrana, "We were never properly introduced though. It's a pleasure to meet you again." He smiles at Jaren and Gauvain then (not -quite- so enthusiastically) and nods. "Excellent, good work, Sirs. I believe that means we can ride on the morrow at dawn."

"As you command, Highness." Jaren notes, inclining his head once more. "I'll inform the men shortly." He does look perhaps the tiniest bit amused at Samwell's "enthusiastic" greeting, but of course remains silent on the matter. Hey, it's not like Myrana isn't quite easy on the eyes, herself.

Myrana blushes and ducks her head a little to clear her throat in sheer embarrassment. Princes aughtn't have such charming smiles, she thinks to herself. And what does one say to nobility? Myrana is far better equipped than most commoners, being the daughter of a wealthy merchant and used to fine company… in theory. "If my father were here he would be ashamed that I have nothing to offer in thanks for the hospitality you showed, inviting me to Robard's hold when our caravan was waylaid, though most of the supplies for the village of Brivey were taken by the bandits."

"I have yet to speak to him on the matter, however— I was only in Laketown a day before my brothers were leaving again on the road to repair what was stolen to Ser Robard. We are on our way to Brivey tomorrow with the medicines and grain." She glances up at Samwell, straightening. Mention of the foul knight darkens her eyes and a frown purses her lips; her opinion of the man creeps into her expression, though she keeps it as diplomatic as she can. "If there is anything the D'Armaz family can do, we will."

Well, females do get a bigger smile than males from the prince. "I am terribly sorry for your loss, Mistress.", Samwell replies to Myrana, "As you have probably heard from my knights here, we will be riding against Sir Robard again. And we will bring back what was yours - or a reimbursement thereof." He smiles at her again. "If you wish to thank my brave men, perhaps you could put a barrel of ale at their disposal when we return. They do like a little celebration. Right, Sir Jaren?", he grins at the man.

"I take my satisfaction in knowing that my duty was fulfilled, Your Highness." Jaren smiles just a bit, "But that doesn't mean I don't like a good ale as much as the next man." He glances to Myrana briefly, gentle humor still painting his features, before he looks back to the Prince, "Is there anything else you may require before our departure tomorrow, Highness?"

Myrana nods slowly at mention of the intent to ride on Robard and oust him from the Hold. Gauvain did tell her— or she gathered. "I am glad of that," she says more somberly. "Kidnapping women from the mountains and keeping a company of murderers and thieves who drink to excess at the slightest provocation…" She brushes the hair from her face. "I feel for the commoners under him. We ate very well while those men and women offered me twice the price of the goods we meant to deliver just to return again before the next frost. They are desperate… Fortunately for them, my father never heard of this inflated offer," she smiles wrily with a bit of dry mischief in her eyes. "If Robard is thrown on his face, it will be payment to my family in full."

Pausing, she covers her mouth with a hand to hide a smile at the suggestion of ale. "I would be glad."

Samwell ponders Jaren's question for a moment, then shakes his head. "If your men are armed, if you have sufficient provisions for everyone and tents to shelter them, that will do. I must also call on the Lady Claire to make sure she is ready to leave as well." He listens to Myrana's tale with a sombre expression and nods. "It is our duty to look well after the commoners in our realm. Sir Robard has sorely neglected this duty."

"Indeed he has." Jaren's tone and expression are grim. "But he will face the Queen's justice for his dereliction of duty, one way or another. I give you my oath on it, Mistress D'Armaz." He inclines his head towards her briefly, then looks back to the Prince, falling into his usual comfortable silence for the moment.

"It isn't just that" Myrana begins with heat in her voice then remembers herself, and gentles her tone with a flush to her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I meant, Ser Robard knows of the bandits, and does business with them. He benefits from them, and so doing actively and willingly harms his people." She looks at Jaren, and then back at the Prince. "After the feast, these two knights and I stayed as Robard's men gambled, and we plied them with brandy. They talked more than they would have; about how the bandits bring them women and drink and whatever goods they take from travelers, along with girls taken from the mountains. Most of them were so well into their cups that they felt invincible— if it were not for Ser Jaren and Ser Gauvain, I would not have felt brave enough to encourage their talk, but— The ones who were more in command of their wits, Your Highness, they knew that what their companions were saying would bring them to task with their master, and possibly with your company."

She swallows, and fingering the needlework at her sleeve seems to draw courage and come to a decision. "I do not believe your coming will be unlooked for. Ser Robard will not be fooled."

Samwell listens carefully to Myrana's words and looks to Jaren to see what the knight may have to say on this suggestion. "Would those men have the gumption to tell Sir Robard about their slip of tongue though?", he muses, "They may well fear his wrath. And he's a vain man, I believe he is very pleased with himself, having made the prince of the realm a friend. However, I thank you for your warning, Mistress. As they say - to be warned is forearmed. We will make sure to have a dagger in our boots…"

And a few other things, though that particular detail the Prince is likely not yet aware of. Myrana herself may gather quite the inkling on her journey to Rikton, however. "I believe the men who spoke would not reveal themselves, but I would not put it past those who did -not- to inform Sir Robard to denigrate their fellows and attempt to elevate themselves in his eyes." Jaren notes with an undercurrent of disgust in his voice, "They seemed the type of scum to do that sort of thing. As you say, we will have to be on our guard. How we are received will likely reveal much."

Myrana lets out a breath that she'd been holding without meaning to; being frank with a southern noble puts her on edge. HELPING Southern royalty makes her feel as though her father were looming over her disapprovingly like a spectre, questioning her motives. She's a northerner; that much is easy to tell from her white complexion and accent. Merchant families technically bear no strong alliegance to one crown or the other, since trade must flow without prejudice. Nonetheless its well known that her father, Abrahm D'Armaz, is a man from Brivey and moved his family to Laketown only in the past decade to be at the center of Guild business.

"It is nothing," she demurrs in more meek a tone. "I believe Ser Jaren is right."

"You are right, Sir Jaren.", Sam smiles, "And I am glad to have such valuable protection at my side." He decides it's time to change the subject then and stop worrying about Sir Robard. Instead he looks at Myraana again, tilting his head slightly. "So are you just visiting here, Mistress, or are you staying for some time?"

Jaren simply inclines his head to Samwell in a gesture of humility, remaining silent as the Prince asks his question of Myrana.

Myrana D'Armaz relaxes a little and gives the prince a bit of a smile, relieved not to be speaking of the ugliness at Brivey. The intensity that flared up in her blue eyes simmers down back into dark thoughtfulness once again. "I am here with my brother, Highness. He and I and a few men are leaving in the morning to continue on our trade route. I came with him for company, as this time of year is beautiful, and Laketown is always too noisy with the harvest crews coming in."

"Ah, I thought you may enjoy the harvest festivals. I find them rather pleasant.", Samwell replies with a pleasant smile, "Still, it was good to see you here and you and yours will always be a welcome guest.", he promises.

For the entiore conversation thus far, Gauvian has remained silent. He listens, he observes, and then chooses not to act. He stnads with his arms crossed and leaning casually against a wall. He does look up form his musings to look at Myrana and considers the words spoken.

"Oh — my brother wouldn't let me dance anyhow," says Myrana with a wry smile. "Unless miss Bethany were to suffer the common embarrassment of keeping me company on the side of the dancing, I would be here with the most coddling and dreadfully over-protective chaperone and enjoy none of it anyhow."

Jaren smirks ruefully and notes, "I cannot say I disagree with the notion of getting out of Laketown for a while." He turns that glimmer of self-effacing humor towards Gauvain and Bethany after briefly meeting the Prince's eyes. All those that are aware of his recent predicament.

Samwell is nothing if not a diplomat, so he just offers Jaren a little encouraging smile as he mentions getting out of Laketown for a while. "I would not mind a dance with you, Mistress.", he turns back to Myrana then with his best Prince Charming smile. Which he then directs at Bethany: "Or with you."

Myrana was about to say something but that overheats her brain and she instead stutters, looking to the side in sheer embarrasment. "E-er er…"

Clearing his throat, Gauvian idly, and subconsciously fingers the favor on the hilt of his sword. He looks to Bethany and and then to Samwell, but says nothing. His eye twitches slightly, and he has a look that says the poor old knight is confused on if he needs to be embarrassed, angry, threatening, humored or honored.

"A-ah what a pity I-I am in fact a terrible dancer," Myrana lies miserably. Oh god if her father were here he'd have a coronary.

Bethany for her pary turns a lovely shade of pink and does the subconsous girl talk with Myrana.

Having thoroughly confuddled everyone around him, Samwell bows deeply. "I should be on my way. I will meet you tomorrow at dawn.", he nods to Jaren and Gauvain, then offers Myrana one last smile. "Safe journeys, Mistress." And off he wanders with a smirking Blue Guard by his side.

It is perhaps fortunate that Sir Jaren's humor does not veer towards the cruel. "Well, if the Guardians favor us, we'll be there and back before the last of the festivals are concluded." He notes, and diplomatically adds, "And we can worry about how terrible we are at dancing later." He once again bows from horseback towards the Prince as he departs, "Until the morning, Your Highness."

Myrana curtseys again, vowing silently never to get within range of royalty again. "Good afternoon, Highness," she mumbles. When he's turned and gone she straightens, and slaps a hand to her forehead. "God in heaven, I am never walking this close to a castle again. Bethany!" She turns a lazer look on the other girl. "Stop laughing at me!"

Gauvain must have a frog in his throat, he clears it again and looks to Myrana. "I could teach you. My mother made sure I knew how." He shrugs a pouldron. "One of the things I'm surprisingly decent at off the battlefield."

Bethany, still nearly Pink, is waving a hand to fan her face, and gestures to Gauvain behind his back, and then to Myrana. She feigns fainting. Then cackles silently.

Myrana puts her hands over her face and leans back against her horse's flank, looking like she might ACTUALLY be faint. Which has nothing to do with Bethany's suggestion and everything to do with how her life is one tremendous flustered fuckup after another.

"I suppose we should have warned you that his Highness is quite fond of the ladies." Sir Jaren notes, with only a tiny bit of humor in his voice. "Some poor woman is going to have their hands full when his mother decides it's time for him to marry."

Gauvain blinks a few times and looks over to Jaren. "He is?" Then he shrugs a shoulder. "I hadn't noticed." He runs a hand through his hair and says to jaren next. "The reserves are ready. But I added a to the plan." He holds up a hand. "Once combat starts, one of my men will send up a Fire arrow. That will be the Signal for Bethany and your man to lead the reserves over the wall." He looks into Jaren's eyes. "I remembered the first rule of Warfare. Win. I'll take full responsibility with the Prince. But waiting for a rescue would cost lives. With a two pronged assault, they won't be able to defend themselves. This will save lives."

"Next time, I will keep out of your southern politics," says Myrana faintly. "And mind my own business. Does the heat make you all so…" She reconsiders quickly and amends; "c…Courteous. I'm sorry, that was impolite." These are knights of the southern realm, after all. She looks at Gauvain, still rather flushed, and says; "er- That would be nice. (Bethany, stop -doing- that)."

"Sound reasoning. I had presumed we'd send the signal straightaway in any case." Jaren notes, glancing towards Myrana with an upraised (in an amused fashion) brow, "I'd always thought it was our mothers and fathers that made us courteous, but I suppose the heat could have something to do with it. Tempers flare along with the heat, after all…best to try soothing them with courtesy when able." He adds, smiling a bit more warmly, "But no apology is necessary. The Prince is…" Jaren shrugs, "He takes the liberties afforded a young Prince, but I do not believe he intends either harm or embarrassment from his flirtations." Jaren chuckles softly, "Even if the latter is somewhat frequent."

"I am not used to it," says Myrana with a tone of apology, clearing her throat. "But it harms nothing. I think my sense of things is warped through the lens of having three older brothers. It is a trial, but I think they save me headaches in the long run.

Gauvain nods to Jaren and then raises an eyebrow at Myrana. He was the older brother, because that is what he does. So it makes sense to him. "Your brothers jsut feel the need to watch out for their sibling. I'd have done the same thing." He shrugs. "I suppose I still do with Caterina."

"My brothers and I were too often at war to spend much time looking after my younger sister Edwina." Jaren notes, then smiles a touch, "Not that it made it any easier to hear when it was announced she was betrothed. Thankfully he turned out to be a good and honorable man."

Myrana sighs. "With any luck, I shall die a maid with ten cats and a library," she says flippantly. "And be left to an enormous allowance after the successive marrying-off of my siblings. Then I will open a bakery, and cook children into pies."

Myrana's maid looks like she wants to go back to bed.

Gauvain shakes his head. "Oh I doubt you will die a maid. Some young strapping Knight or Merchant's son will be tortured by your wit by becoming betrothed to you." He says wiht a grin. "Then the two of you will fight and snip at each other for the rest of his days."

"Having a premonition, Sir Gauvain?" Jaren notes oh-so-innocently towards his friend, only ever-so-briefly glancing towards Bethany. Just long enough to wink. Surely it's her imagination!

"I have doubt that my father will find a man of sufficient density to survive it," Myrana replies, laughing. "No, I wouldn't give up traveling through every manner of weather and meeting exciting people for anything. After all, that's how I met the three of you and Lady Claire, though that was a particularly unpleasant chapt— I mean." She coughs suddenly. "It would be boring."

"Gods. I hope not." Gauvain replies dryly. He rolls his eyes and sighs. "We should prepare the men. See they have the supplies and all that. Whom do you have incharge under Bethany?" He asks Jaren. Then he grins over to Myrana, nodding to her. "If your father is anything like your Brothers, this should be an entertaining scenario."

"Argyle Daleson, the Master-At-Arms for the remaining soldiers of House Cassomir. He may not be a Knight, but only by virtue of not holding the title. He as abundant experience as both a man-at-arms and a light cavalry skirmisher." He notes towards Bethany with a slight smirk, "You ladies may have to excuse his language, however. It is quite coarse in the manner of veteran soldiers, though I'm sure he will spend a great deal of time apologizing to you for it."

Myrana smiles, laughing. "Men-at-Arms who swear are much to be preferred to ones who spend too much time thinking how better to tell you not to ride into a ditch at night."

Nodding in appreciation Gauvain says, "I remember him. Excellent choice in Master of Arms. I thought he hadn't survived the war, I'm glad to find I was wrong." He looks to bethany and says, "Though you have the command due to position of birth, you listen, carefully, becuase he knows what he is speaking of."

Bethany gulps and nods. Understanding clearly.

Then he grins to Myrana. "It is true. If a Man at Arms doesn't swear, he is either green as spring grass, or has something to hide." He chuckles slightly.

"Argyle is an open book. He will likely spend a great deal of time bemoaning the ferocious temper of his wife and how she never lets him have any fun." Jaren smiles a touch wistfully, "And after four or five pints of ale or so he'll weep in gratitude for the very privilege of knowing her, only to deny it fiercely the next morning should it be mentioned." He adds, "She's actually a lovely woman. A good mother to their seven sons."

Myrana sighs. "That's so romantic…"

"Is that what Romance is?" Gauvain says to Bethany's facepalming. "I will have to remember this." He chuckles and looks over to Bethany to show he's kidding. "Well. Other than that, pick the best method of Attack. Be quick. Don't glory seek. Just …. get the job done."

Myrana blinks and slooowly turns her head to look at Gauvain.

"That is a /terrible/ description of romance. No wonder you're not married!"

Gauvain says, "Actually I'm not married becuase I fathered a Bastard and while I was… with woman… my men were wiped out by the Corsairs." He shrugs a shoulder. "Not many women want to marry a man who caused that."

Myrana says, "You're sure it has nothing to do with how you just described woo-ing a lady as 'getting the job done quick'?"

Gauvain says, "Decently. I'm fairly certain there are universal truths."

Myrana taps a finger to her lips. "Because that just killed any flourishing embers of romantic attraction that I may have ever had for anyone ever."

"Well then, I suppose it's time for me to go inform the men of our departure in the morning." Jaren interjects oh-so-nonchalantly, bringing his horse about and giving a nod to Gauvain, Myrana, and Bethany in turn, "Sir Gauvain, I will see you in the morning. Bethany, Myrana…hopefully after matters at Brenton are settled."

Myrana turns, and smiles to Jaren, curtseying a little. "Take care, Ser Jaren! Make sure not to use too much of that ginger or you'll never sleep." She has, of course, no idea, and so makes the natural assumtion that the knight is wired on caffiene and ginger. Which would put a perk in anyone's step! Quite so.

Bethany heads out and nods to Myrana. "I'll be at the Inn, we can meet there and ride together." She says wiht a smile and that look that says: GIRL TIME.

Gauvain nods once and bows to Myrana. "I will see you after Brenton is handled." He stranghtens and says, "All joking aside. I'm sure your father will find a suitable match for you. If the man is unknind. Between your brothers or myself, I'm certain he won't be unkind for long."

Myrana waves to Bethany, nodding. There will be girl time, and much pre-road chocolate will be consumed. It will be marveolous. As she and Jaren head down the gate road, she turns to look up at Gauvain and smiles wrily, shifting a little out of the way as her horse takes two restless steps behind her. There is nothing to eat on the gate road; its kept too well trimmed.

"I know I can count on you to stick your nose in, Ser Tarris," she says. With a glance over her shoulder at her nursemaid, she sees that Sylvie is dozing in the sunlight, stooped in her saddle. So quickly she reaches into the fold of her kirtle where it buttons over her chemise beneath her white throat.

"Here," she says, offering a bronze disc toward the knight. On it an eye flashes, worked in enameled red stone with rays coming out from it like the sun. "It was my mother's. It's… old fashioned. But I'd like you to have it."

Blinking, Gauvain accepts the disk and bows his head. "I… Thank you. I will keep it safe." He nods once and starts to move toward his horse. He spies that the chaperone is asleep, liekly bored stupid. Then he sighs and makes a fist. He turns and embraces Myrana in a one armed hug. Not tight or close. Metal Plate is cold and has a few sharp edges. He clears his throat and steps back. "Thank you." He says evenly and then gets on Strider, slightly blushing.

Myrana is a little startled, but she pats Gauvain's chestplate, smiling a little foolishly and with colour in her cheeks. "Just don't drop it." And with a practiced step gets up onto the sidesaddle and wheels Erikkndl around, arranging her skirts as she goes to wake up her nursemaid and go back to the inn to meet Bethany.

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