Log:New Alderaan: Stronger Than You Think

Enjoying the eyrie view of Droalder bay.

OOC Date: Feb. 9, 2022
Location: Droalder Palace, New Alderaan
Participants: New Alderaan, Orren Rist, Nora Frayus, Avlin Teraan NPC, Aryn Cortess

The palace is often the hub of activity for the capital city known as Bastion. Since the mysterious move of the planet from Ileenium system to the Alderaan system, and the subsequent conflict that left the city scarred and waylaid with bombardment, a great deal of change was conceived. Droalder palace still bore the marks of war upon its ramparts and tall storm walls, yet the banners fluttered carrying the emblem Cortess and her bannermen. Morale improved with victory, and Alderaanians flocked to the new home with visions ambitious enough to see the city not only repaired, but enhanced.

Such sights were visible from one of the hundreds of grand patios available in the palace. It just happened that Aryn and Lady Nora of Frayus occupied one such covered veranda watching the bay and its spumante consistency of blue where the lights hit it favorably.

Fine wine was poured for both ladies, and breakfast was brought out and set on a nearby table for them to graze when they saw fit. Aryn poured over a datapad with recent news, sitting barefoot in a chair with one leg tucked under her and the other stretched out so her toes could touch the feet of the table in front of her. "Fascinating," she in-tones aloud.

"Her Excellency, the Dargul Duchess, has begun excavations on one of its moons, discovering clues to an ancient civilization that experts say existed more than three thousands years ago." Aryn bites into toast and chews. "They intend to send a team to the moon for further investigation, and hold high hopes that such a civilization may still exist where water is rumored to persist beneath the crust of the atmospheric moon!"

It's a vista of fine wine, beautiful women, and absolutely breathtaking views. To most in the galaxy, this should be something of a decadent luxury. Something to be sipped on and savored and then tucked away for a later day. But on New Alderaan, such things are consumed in excess. Take Lady Frayus, for example. So much skin on display in that Hapan silk dress. It spills down her back like syrup, pooling at the notch in her spine just above the topmost curve of her backside. All that musculature. All those lovely little beauty marks. She's got her legs crossed, right elbow leaned on the table, and left hand delicately twirling her parrying dagger, point down, against the table.

Its hilt and pommel are ornate. Watermarks of House Frayus steel. That tip is sharp, too. It bores into that tabletop ever so slightly. A permanent mark that will, with time, become a part of this pristine piece of furniture.

She is not pouring over a datapad. She's looking out towards the horizon and barely picking at her food. Bits of fruit, here and there, but for the most part it seems something else is on Lady Frayus' mind.

Aryn's exuberant recital of ancient moon civilizations being excavated by the Dargul Duchess draws Nora's attention away from that window and towards the petite blonde woman across from her. There's a crunch of toast and a wrinkling of Nora's nose.

"Fascinating," she says dryly, and her grip tightens around the shaft of that parrying dagger before releasing, and twirling it once again.

She can't help but laugh and smile. Her Highness is sort of infectious like that. You can almost hear the 'oh, very well, then' even though she doesn't say it.

"And what do you think they will do, should they find it? First meetings with isolated cultures can be so..." she pauses, and twirls that blade again, "Delicate."

There are dozens, if not hundreds, of people that walk along the path between thoes hundreds of patios, overlooking that brilliantly sparkling sea. Servants and courtiers, lesser members of noble Houses and important looking men and women moving with varying levels of urgency along the paths. A rushing messenger here, the stately march of a matronly looking woman there, creating a fluttering flash of color that rivals the sea itself at times.

One such person is marked by the stiffness of his legs as he walks, a tall man in black and jade, his outfit understated but clearly well tailored. He makes a slow, steady circuit of the pathway between the verandas along the ramparts, his legs unstiffening with each slow circle. Until, as if by chance, he comes to slow at the entrance to the veranda occupied by Princess Aryn and Lady Nora.

There's a subtly tense set to the line of his lips and jaw as he comes to a stop, his hand lifting to rest against a nearby railing or other convenient piece of support as he slows to a stop. And after a second he'll look over and call out. "Ah.." clearly a touch uncertain, he straightens his back before continuing, "Would it be any trouble if I joined the two of you for a moment?" he asks, one hand lifting to smooth the way his drab outfit against his chest as he asks it in a quietly self-conscious motion. "I can always move on to the next veranda, if I would be intruding." he adds a moment later, his tone polite but direct.

Aryn seems at the precipice of speaking to Nora when the timely arrival of the Rist gentleman draws her gaze. The thought concerning the ancient matters of Dargulum, and its Duchy, are set aside for the moment as the refined voice of the male cuts into their late breakfast seeking an invitation to their arrangement. Aryn smiles, but does not rise. "Ah, Lord Orren. My cousin's betrothed. Your presence is welcomed, sir.. please partake in what beverage and sustenance you desire. May I introduce you to the Lady, Nora of House Frayus, a childhood friend of mine. My Lady, you have the pleasure of meeting Lord Orren of House Rist, an ally of consequence and friend to the crown."

Aryn sets her toast down and uses her napkin to brush her hand off, ridding it of any residue that might have been stubborn enough to stay on.

Nora's cold blue gaze is on Aryn as the Princess is about to speak, but she notes the marked shift in the woman's expression as she sights Lord Orren. Her fingers tighten subtly on the hilt of the blade in her left hand, if only to direct it to lie, flat and delicate, on the surface of the table. Similar to Her Highness, Lady Nora does not rise to her feet. She does, however, turn her chin over her shoulder to catch sight of the man being introduced to her.

"I am delighted to meet your acquaintance, Lord Orren of House Rist. Her Grace is entirely too generous with her compliments -- she did her best to steer me away from trouble, and put up with my childhood whimsies. A veritable saint, as I am sure you are already aware," Nora says.

Her body shifts. The language of it opens to him, now, and invites him to join the two at the table. Torso turned and knees pointed towards, Nora's hand -- the hand that had handled her parrying dagger previously -- reaches out to tuck a piece of cheese into some jam and slip it between her lips. That same hand gestures to a free seat. One situated directly between herself and Princess Cortess.

"You are.. too kind, Princess Cortess." Orren says, echoing Nora's sentiment with a small shake of his head. "Especially considering my House's.. poorly considered choices when it comes to politics of late." His eyes track the knife as it goes flat, attention lingering on where Nora keeps her hands as he approaches. The particularly observant will notice that continued stiffness as he approaches, his hand finding the back of the chair so that he can pull it out.

"It is, similarly, a pleasure to meet you, Lady Nora of House Frayus." The chair slides back and Orren moves around it to lower himself into the seat, settling into it a bit heavily. He leaves it scooted out from the table, as if to ensure that he isn't actually hemmed in by the two noblewomen, and can make a clean retreat when or if he needs to, his chair angled directly at the table so that his knees do not invade either's personal space.

"I hadn't had a chance to walk the ramparts yet." he says, indicating the view with a tilt of his head as his hands come up to draw an empty glass toward himself, which summons a servant up with refreshments to fill it. "The sea is positively stunning." said with a small nod toward Aryn as he lifts his drink to take a sip, the glass replaced a moment later, his hand left circling it low on the stem.

Aryn is kind enough to refrain from commenting on House Rist's involvement, or the excess of deadly force deployed by them in an attempt to end the lives of many, many good folk. Such is the action of war, yet the scion before them stood against such acts, it seemed. He was an interesting notion to consider, thus Orren fell under the scrutiny of Aryn's gaze as he settled between the two. She is not trained well enough in the arts of strategy to denote his advantageous seating arrangement, but she is perceptive enough to watch his eyes and careful consideration of the two upon approach. Her intuition told her he was dangerous, and she adjusted once he settled as if to calm her nerves a bit.

"Just so," Aryn says with a bit of innocent enthusiasm, her pale hand sweeping out toward the glittering blue bay they could see from this vantage. The sunlight twinkled over the waves of the Droalder bay, and they could make out the distant yachts floating along its surface as they traveled leisurely by, slipping between the tall snowcapped mountains that shaped the bay on each side. "The bay provides the right canvas for reflection. How easy it seems to be lost in its splendid presentation that the stresses of life wash away with each wave. I find this eyrie my favorite perch for its view is unparalleled."

A subtle breeze sees the peaks of Fir and Cedar move below, banners rustle along the ramparts and braziers whisper with flames urged at the whims of wind. The subtle touch of nature sees blonde hair move around Aryn's face, revealing the scar over her left eye despite her drawing no emphasis upon it. "Tell us, my Lord, what news you bring. You seem driven by purpose, if my intuition serves me well."

Lady Frayus is unlike Aryn Cortess in a lot of ways. For starters, while Aryn is kind enough to refrain from commenting on House Rist, Lady Nora is not. "We are not the decisions of our Mothers and Fathers, Lord Rist," she says in response to his apology. Her words are hardly pointed, but her tone has a distinct sharp edge to it. Still, her body language remains warm and open and inviting enough. Also unlike Aryn, Nora is acutely aware in the manner at which the man sits. She recognizes he's dangerous and, should House Rist's training be as storied as she's heard, he will likely recognize that in her, as well.

Most notably that left hand. How it always seems to move. Flat, and level, gathering food or fiddling with hair, that dagger almost always within reach. The rest of her, though. Motionless. Still. Warm and inviting in so many pleasing ways. Disarming, too, if one lets it.

"Just so," she repeats, glancing out once more to the vistas beyond. Privileged and entitled as she is, these views are... commonplace. Pretty, like a precious work of art, but so common that she seldom seems to appreciate them. The banners that rustle in the breeze are absent of House Frayus. A neutral house, in this war. Even sitting here with Her Grace might be considered a scandal, in its own right.

"Yes. Driven by purpose, and perhaps also tension. Please, do relax, My Lord. You are a friend to the crown, and you are among friends. Here, let me..."

Nora shifts, sliding a small plate towards herself. That left hand drifts away from the dagger now and begins to gather up a collection of meat, cheese, honey, jam, and briney, pickled things. She arranges them as a sort of... impromptu charcuterie board. Things are paired logically -- crunchy and creamy. Salty and sweet. Briney and savory. Three separate bites, each decadent in their own right. She slides that plate towards Orren.

"Three of my favorite pairings. This one I think you will find particularly delightful," Nora says, and gestures towards a collection of jam, soft cheese, and dried fruit.

The way Lord Rist moves is similar to the Lady Frayus, coincidentally also left-hand led, a stillness followed by a smoothness, action that flows easily out of inaction. The only difference is that ever-present stiffness to his joints, and the slightest waver of his hand when it comes to rest. The Lady Frayus is likely observant enough to note the involuntary nature of that subtle tremor. His eyes, however, remain sharp and observant.

"I'll hope to see the view from the eyrie soon then." he says with a faint smile, "I can only imagine a view more lovely than this. Delaya has its beauty of course, but my family estate was located among inland mountains - the novelty of the view adds to its charm." His attention wanders to Nora as she speaks, his lips curving into a polite smile, "Just nerves from getting settled in a new place." he says. His eyes track her hands as she makes the meal, relaxed save for that hawkish study of the bend and shift of each finger as they handle food to prepare it for him. House Rist's assassins are legendary for their use of poisons in addition to direct confrontation, which makes the watchful eye more force of habit than any specific lack of trust in her.

He smiles as he accepts the plate, "Thank you, Lady Freyus. I always appreciate a thoughtfully curated experience." He lifts the plate as he looks back to Aryn, "No news as of yet, or at least nothing of note. Finding myself getting settled, learning the lay of the grounds and Bastion itself - I'm still sticking my nose into things and seeing what I can turn up." he says with a faint lift of his shoulders. "I haven't had a chance to do much more than introduce myself and make my intentions known." he says.

He lifts the briney and savory pairing up held neatly between the pointer and thumb of his left hand, tucking them between his lips and biting down to chew. His eyes briefly half-lid as he nods in quiet, thoughtful approval over toward Nora for her choices.

"I suppose it naïve of me to think 'no news is good news'. Alas, things develop in their own time, and we can deal with them then." Nora sets to serving the Lord a meal of thoughtful composition and Aryn returns her thoughts to toast, lifting the small item up for a modest crunch and chew. She pulls her datapad back up and goes back to reading, her glasses still on.

"Lady Nora and I were discussing Dargul. Her Excellency, the Duchess Dargulum, has uncovered the tell tale of an ancient civilization they think still lives beneath the surface of their moon. I share Nora's doubt the Duchy will prove ..diplomatic should they uncover some mysterious race. To think.."

Aryn lowers the datapad slightly, eyes going up in thought, "to be underground.. where it is inherently dark, their use of 'sight' could have devolved to something more instinctive or limiting. Maybe they have grown more primitive and instinctive in their survival? But such would not be a hopeful conclusion to their story. I can only speculate what a first contact with them might be." Crunch. Chewchewchew.

Nora Frayus' eyes are on that brief, tiny tremor for a whisper of a moment, but then they flick conscientiously away. She is a well-honed weapon, but she is also young. Just coming of age, and is susceptible to a great many thing that young people often are. Pride. Flattery. Insecurity. None of these are necessarily projected, save for vanity, but they're always there. It's why, when Lord Orren's eyes lid in approval for her selection, Lady Nora's elation is entirely earnest. She genuinely likes that the pairing was met with approval.

Still, there are unpleasant topics being discussed, and Nora tempers that expression of excitement a moment later. For herself, she gathers a piece of cured meat and tucks it into a hard, aged cheese. Nibbling on it while Aryn returns to the topic of underground civilizations, Lady Nora is unable to contain a soft and amused laugh.

"Yes, we certainly were," Nora says, only after that bite had been chewed, swallowed, and any remnants of it dabbed away with the bit of cloth laying on her lap. That dark, bold red even somehow manages to compliment our outfit.

"That long, they may very well have developed senses that you and I cannot comprehend. Now that is fascinating to me. They say that some species of birds can see colors that our eyes are not capable of perceiving. Can you imagine, Your Grace? To see the world with someone else's eyes. I wonder what sort of things the birds see. What sort of music they hear in their heads," Nora muses. Oh. Right. Back to the subject. Dargul.

"Perhaps, absent of sight, they have grown kinder to one another. More reliant, perhaps. An absence of a sense might not always prove deleterious," she says. "And what do you think, Lord Orren?"

Orren listens as the other two talk, sampling the crunchy and creamy pairing with another look of clear relish and a fair approving purse of his lips. Then the salty and sweet is lifted up, saved for last. He presses it up between his lips and chewchewchews. His hand moves aside to gently brush his fingertips together, dislodging whatever remnants cling to them in a safe place that threatens neither woman's expensive and elegent outfit. He swallows and nods, intoning softly, "Excellent selections." in a tone that speaks to not interrupting.

His hand goes back to the stem of his glass, lifting it up for a drink to wash down the three samplings, the glass replaced as the conversation moves on. He reaches out to gently adjust the platter, recreating the salty and sweet and briney and savory pairings twice each, setting them onto his plate but not yet digging into them. One must not appear to be greedy or eat quickly after all.

He glances between each of the women when addressed, taking a breath before he says, "I, uh.. call it prejudice on my part." he starts, then corrects himself, speech crisp. "But I am of the opinion that when a people live in the darkness for too long, the knives begin to come out. If something is found down there, I suspect it will be a culture that the Duchess may come to regret exposing to the Galaxy at large." he says. "Which is to say I agree with you, Princess Cortess, and the Lady Frayus' earlier assessment." said with a faint, diplomatic smile. "Though of course, hope is always something to strive for, it is interesting to imagine what other senses they might use, and how that might shape the way they see the world."

If more on the topic was to be discussed, it is forgotten when the doors behind them open and a member of staff steps out, bowing immediately. "Your Grace, My Lord, My Lady.. pardon the intrusion. The captain of the guard instructed me to escort Lady Avlin to the veranda. There seems to have been some altercation below, at the beach. The Lady was injured.. not badly, but she insists that you render aid, your Grace."

Aryn discards her toast upon the small saucer casually and brings a napkin up to wipe her lips and hands. Upon swallowing, she rises to her feet and shifts her attire so the skirt hides her pale feet. "Bring the young Duchess to me, I will see her here, sir." -- "It shall be done, your Grace. One moment.." The guard steps away long enough for Aryn to share a look with Nora. Then she sets to pulling out a satchel that hung on the back of one of the chairs. A dark haired youth of eight appeared in the door before the group. Her hair is untidy, her clothing a bit soiled like she was playing in the dirt, and her nose was bloodied. A sniffling noise is heard as she set to addressing the group, but is interrupted by the guard shutting the doors behind her. She turns to look back at that, then to the group, suddenly at a loss for words.

Aryn steps quietly up to Avlin, lifting her own glasses and tipping her chin slightly as a hand came out to cup the girl's chin and tilt her head. "Hmm," is all Aryn says at first, then intones, "I think this may scar. How did this come to pass?"

"I was playing with my friend. We were building in the sand, not bothering anyone when some of the boys came over. They made fun of my friend, spoke down to her because of her family, and her clothes. When I asked them to stop, that they were being hurtful and mean, one of them pushed me down and I landed on a rock." Avlin explains, a tear rolling down her cheek as Aryn presses around on her face with the clinical precision of an experienced doctor.

"I grew angry, and tried to fight back, but then.. they took my ribbon and hurt my friend, too. They laughed at us, and said we were too weak to fight them."

Nora's eyes are on Lord Orren's own when he speaks. She's amused by his response. There's likely a pointed remark that Lady Frayus is intending to deliver, but that is all but forgotten with the interruption of the guard. For a brief moment, Lady Frayus appears to be a touch annoyed. It must have been a rather clever remark. However, at the mention of Lady Avlin, an altercation, and an injury, that annoyance vanishes, replaced in turn with concern.

A look is indeed exchange with Princess Cortess, though Nora's might be a touch more sharp and ferocious. Still, she remains quiet as Lady Avlin is brought forth. Her left hand moves to that dagger, and the motion is quick. She draws it from the table and tucks it away into a small sheath that clings to the outside of her thigh.

Ah, so that's what the high slit is for.

Aryn is the medical professional, though Nora is familiar with wounds herself. This is clumsy work. The product of children fighting in the sand. She's a bit cold as she regards Avlin, looking towards that bloodied nose and those stinging, pink eyes.

But that cold doesn't last. Lady Nora is no monster, and when poor Avlin explains her story, she lets out a sympathetic sigh and moves behind her to start primping and preening over that lovely, dark hair. She's tucking it back into place like a mother would, with all the care and protectiveness as well.

As she fusses with that hair, she notes the absence of the ribbon. Her lips thin and, for a brief moment, she stops her gentle fussing.

"You did well, Avlin. You stood up for yourself and your friends, and now you have suffered a wound for your convictions. You should be proud of yourself," Nora says. Tender and kind, she leans down to press a soft kiss to the top of the hair she's just tucked back into place. A few little brushes sweep some of that sand and dirt from the girl's dress as well. Neat and tidy.

"Did you know the boys?" she asks. An ominous question, if there ever was one.

Perhaps feeling a bit like an interloper, Orren simply watches as the girl comes in and draws the noblewomen's attention. His eyes track the flicker of the dagger briefly as if by habit, but as the girl comes in he moves to stand, drawing the chair back to make room for the young Duchess. He makes his way to the side, like he's clearing space - and he steps back to the railing easily. His movements are more fluid now after that bit of rest.

He doesn't add anything for the time being, coming to lean the small of his back against the railing as he watches them dote on the younger girl. His arms move to fold loosely across the lower part of his chest, wrinkling the blue and emerald outfit he wears, Rist colors and Rist cut, but perhaps a step or two below what he *should* be wearing. And like that, he watches, listening and gaining information.

"Members of my friend's school, I think," Avlin recites truthfully. "She knew them, but as bullies. I tried to have her come with me, but.. she ran to her home. I wish I had been stronger." Avlin laments, closing her eyes to the sensations of two different types of attention. Avlin was clearly a girl used to being the center of the room, at least here more recently. She folds her hands nervously in front of her.

Aryn is wiping away blood to see the girl's face. A thin abrasion has ruined a youthful expression but Aryn does not grimace. She sets to treating her, sparing nothing even if it stings. "Strength manifests in many forms, Avlin. In what way would you have used your strength had you possessed it in those moments?"

The question is given thought and silence as Avlin considers it in her head. Answering honestly, without her filter, she says, "I wanted to hurt them. They hurt my friend. They took my ribbon. We did nothing to bring them to us, Lady Aryn. They had no right --.." She trails off, becoming a little emotional about it. Aryn pauses her work, using a thumb to wipe away a tear. "It is okay to feel these things, Avlin. You reacted admirably, and bravely."

"But it wasn't enough! I am tired of everything being taken from me!" Avlin cries out, stomping.

Aryn sternly corrects her, "..was NOT enough, Avlin. Look at me." Aryn sets aside a bloody item and meets the youths tearful gaze. "This is the galaxy we live in. Things are taken, cruelties are given, and fear, like disease, spreads to those who are susceptible to it. You must not lose faith in what you have, in who you are. If you wish to be strong, it begins in here.." Aryn taps the girl's chest. "Strength in self. Confidence. You are a lot of things, Avlin, but weak is not among them. Blood that has flowed for twenty-thousand years fills these arms. You walk from a line of people whose strength has stopped war, held up a broken people, and saved lives."

Avlin is sniffling a bit, but listening. "By my reasoning, you asked them to stop, did you not?" Aryn resumes treating the child. Avlin answers, "Yes ma'am." Aryn nods. "They did not. Then they refused to listen to the girl. You are no girl anymore, Avlin. One day, you will be Duchess. So act like a Duchess and resolve the matter using the strength you were born to. You want to help your friend? Help her. I will not resolve this for you."

Aryn finishes with the wound, concealing it expertly with a bio-skin liquid bandage that numbed it with kolto.

Lady Avlin listens to Aryn's words, and she does so carefully. She is both merely a child, and not a child at all. Not so much these days. A person so small should not be made to endure and bear what she has, but it is exactly as Princess Cortess says. This is, after all, the galaxy that they live in. Avlin's stomping tantrum sees Nora's hands retreat. Though there are pangs in her chest that ring maternal, she, like the Princess, has little in the way of patience for tantrums. Her hands come to rest on her hips, but she simply observes the interaction between the two while she waits for Avlin to calm down.

Only when she does will Lady Frayus resume her primping. Preening. Soothing. Aryn might be rough with her hands and sparing nothing, but Nora's touch will add a bit of contrast. Both are important. No, both are imperative.

Nora's eyes turn to Aryn when the Princess announces she will not help Avlin. There is a brief flicker of something on Nora's face. Disagreement, perhaps? But it doesn't last. A unified front, even in matters such as this, Nora turns her head down to look at Avlin. When that wound is filled and Aryn is finished, Lady Avlin turns to press herself into Nora's thigh and hip. Nora stoops a little lower, letting that face rub into her stomach a touch, hands still stroking along that dark hair she'd finished preening over.

"Her Grace is right, you know. Little Avlin... child, look at me," Nora says, and urges the girl's face up from her stomach. She's still sniffling -- feeling as if she's been scolded or admonished. Ashamed, helpless, and alone.

"You are stronger than you think, darling. In House Frayus we have a saying... it is as old as my Father, I think. Or older, if you can believe that," Nora says. Avlin giggles just a little, though it's a laugh that's tempered and thickened by tears.

"We say that the fire in your heart and soul burns the hottest when you've suffered... this. Defeat. Humiliation. You can choose to let that flame die, or," Nora says, and brushes some hair from the girl's face and eyes. Behind her ear. "Or... you can blow on that flame. Stoke the embers and light the forge. In the hands of a layman, that flame will burn them. But artists? Alderaanians? We use that flame to make weapons, do you understand? You are so much stronger than you think, child. Use it. Go and get your mother's ribbon back."

An apologetic look is given in Orren's direction when Little Avlin presses her face back into Nora's stomach. Lady Frayus just gently plays fingers through that hair. Coddling a touch, perhaps, but Lady Nora just can't quite help herself.

Orren seems undisturbed, though it might be subtly disconcerting for a Rist to be looming in the background while one's attention is distracted. There are plenty of guards however, and Orren himself has sworn himself to Aryn's cause. And, of course, Nora herself is no slough when it comes to a fight. Still, whatever they might feel about Orren's presence, he simply.. makes himself easy to ignore, arms folded across his chest as he observes.

There's a faint nod of agreement at Aryn's comment about not solving the problem for her, Orren's attention shifting between the three women as each one talks or acts in turn. There's a second faint nod of approval at Nora's words. Weapons forged of fire, and a hidden reserve of strength. But he stays quiet, his hand drawing up to gently rub at the right corner of his chin in a thoughtful gesture.

Nora's look earns her a blink and a friendly smile along with a dismissive 'think nothing of it' shake of his head. He makes his way back over to the table after a moment, choosing a seat on the opposite side, giving him a touch more space and freedom and allowing him to reach over to steal his plate from his original seat. His glass comes next, and Orren settles in, closer now, to snack and drink quietly as he watches without intervention.

Aryn watches for a moment as Avlin hugs Lady Nora for comfort. Some part of Aryn wished she could provide that for Nora, but it was important for them both that a healthy distance be maintained if one day they were to operate in tandem for the good of the system. Friends were supposed to say things that their friends needed to hear, and Aryn fulfilled that role. Finding comfort in others was something the child would have to come to terms with because none of those avenues would lead her back to a mother's love; her mother was dead.

"Well, best be about it then, Lady Avlin." Aryn in tones with a neutral look that changes to a reassuring one when Avlin's eyes search the Doctor's face. Avlin speaks, "I will see to it, your Grace," in a tone that was timid and unsure, but Avlin looked willing to see what she could do. Aryn makes a subtle motion of her head, and Avlin nods and walks from the group to open the doors. A final look is paid back, smiling at Nora, before she slips from view. Her small voice can be heard just before the door closes, "..I would speak with Ser Lars, the First Sword, about a matter that is important to me..."

Aryn smirks and shakes her head. "That is one way to handle it, I suppose. -- Well, anyone for brandy? We had an Ithorian vintage brought up today..." Aryn steps quietly to one side to hang her medical satchel back up.

Lady Nora steps away from Avlin when Her Highness addresses her that last time. Her arms fold over her torso, observing both the doctor and the child from behind her long lashes and cold blue eyes. There is, again, a soft little sigh that washes out through her lips, but it is brief. When Avlin makes her way from the door, and that tiny voice is inquiring about Ser Lars, Nora laughs.

"Such a precocious child. Your Grace, you have my sincerest gratitude for leading Lady Avlin on the proper path. I admit the child's tears provoked a reaction within me that I a not particularly proud of, and, were it not for your intervention, would have likely ended in two snotty children being tossed into the sea," Lady Nora says. She's laughing, but...

"Ithorian brandy? Now that is a vintage I would like to try," Nora says. She slides herself back onto the chair she'd been seated at previously and stares around at the various food offerings available to her. None look quite as tasty as Her Highness' toast, however. "Hmmmh," Nora says, and elects for a nearby piece of cheese instead. She chews on it behind her four fingers, that thumb tucked over her palm.

"Mmmmh. And perhaps after, we could have ourselves a walk with Lord Orren. Walk the ramparts. There is a view of a waterfall that crests between two mountain peaks. Father tells me there is a rare bird that nests within the trees that grow nearby. You should see how excited he gets about it. Just a tiny, fat, horrid little brown bird," Nora says, and laughs.

"Would you like that, Lord Orren? A walk and bird watching. I am not certain how accustomed a man from Rist is with ornithology, but you seem the smart, strapping sort. I am sure you will catch on quickly," she says, humor in her tone. Gods, is this what they do all day?