Shaking Willows

Nicholai's jest is met with a dead air from Bryce.

"You have enough for regular scouting parties. I'm holding you accountable for such tasks. Now stay quiet and listen to what I say."

Bryce and his guards enter the meeting hall in Riverkeep.

Riverkeep Meeting hall

Nic silently follows Bryce into the building.

Riverkeep

The hall is large, as is suitable for its purpose, but not as massive as those in other places, such as Central or Saxum. Still, its large vaulted ceiling and columned walls give it a feeling of grandeur, as do the the colorful tapestries, busts set in alcoves, and stained glass windows. Servants in liveries of all kinds attend to their lords and ladies.

And those lords and ladies matched their surroundings. Dressed in gilded coats and dresses of their house designs, they made quite the colorful sight. Badges and insignias on their breasts or lapels or belts distinguished them, but in a way, it made them all the same. As Bryce Caryotte, the man of the hour, stormed into the hall, a hush fell. How could silence be so loud?

Behind the crowd of nobles is a raised dais with a chair almost resembling a throne. The man standing by it manages to make it clear he owns it without actually sitting in it. Myr Caryonn, high lord of house Caryonn, is a big man. A very big man. Tall and wide and thick with muscles, one might mistake him with a blacksmith. They wouldn't be too far off. His hair is worn in typical Caryonn fashion, long and unhindered. If he wasn't so burly and his eyes not so muddy-looking, he would be handsome.

He notices Bryce immediately and saunters down the steps of the dais and through the passage the nobles gave him before stopping halfway to Bryce.

"Bryce Caryotte," he says at last, in deep, resonating tones, "Wyrm of the North. You honor us with your presence." He makes a slight motion, and a servant in dark livery almost runs to offer Bryce a cup of wine on a tray.
Myr speaks up again, pointing at the wine. "Mountaintart berries, that's made of. It'll wake you up any morning, I'll wager." He flashes a grin, but it seems forced. They're all trying desperately to maintain their dignity despite how scared they are.

Riverkeep
Wyrm of the North
Bryce hangs on those words, as if for his life.

"Wyrm of the North? You flatter me, high lord Caryonn."
He states with a sense of enticement that so rarely left his lips in these recent weeks, with a glance at Myr Caryonn that almost had a sense of self-indulgence in them. Almost.

Bryce takes the wine and starts again.
"You all seem to be a ghastly group. With good reason. It means you all are not stupid."
While he speaks, he lifts the cup to eye level and inspects it before sipping.

The loudness of silence returns as Bryce walks to his seat. It is broken in rhythm by the sound of his leather boots on the stone steps and floor. He takes his seat and looks around at the lord and ladies with their eyes fixed on him.

The stares, the anxious looks. Bryce pretended to ignore them. He pretended to look so calm. He pretended to overlook the fact that only he could save the faces staring at him. And so he said,

"So?"

Riverkeep

Nic motions for his men to stay outside the hall as he follows Bryce silently standing tall with good poster.

He whispers into Bryce's ear, "What did you want me to listen to?"

Casterly Cock

Myr Caryonn blinks. "Ah, young lord Nicolai. Forgive me for not greeting you. Would you like some of the wine? We can water it down for you if you like..."

Someone sniggers in the crowd, but a glare by Myr silences whoever made the noise. "Apologies again, lord Nicolai. Frayed nerves produce frayed attitudes."

Riverkeep

Nic says with confidence, "It is fine Lord Myr, honesty. Thank you for your kind gesture, I will glady accept some wine."

Riverkeep

Myr shifts uneasily, then turns to Bryce, as if unsure of something.

Riverkeep
Bryce cuts through the awkward situation with an assured nod.

"Shall we return to the subject at hand?"
Bryce requests with slight impatience.

Riverkeep

"Is this the person carrying our lives?" someone shouts from the crowd. The noble shoves his way through the crowd before escaping it and the following angry grumbles and curses. A young man, no more than Nic's age most likely, but with an air of confidence and deadly swagger that goes beyond simple boyhood delusions of grandeur. This young man is dangerous. Even with his shoulder length dark gold hair neatly parted at his forehead so as not to get in his eyes and bright cyan eyes, the scowling tendency of his mouth and face that seemed perpetually angry gave him a sort of dark handsomeness. Maybe it had to do with his dark clothing. Even his face seemed shadowed in the bright light of mirrored lamps. He wore an odd sigil on his lapel, a white rose. "A high noble who has not bothered once to come south for the war and his adolescent brother, who can't even tell when he's being mocked?" He spits, and more than a few gasps escape the crowd. "That's to your damned ice dragon."

Myr's face reddens as he gapes at the young man, anger making his face twitch.