Participants: Celebril, Jaice, Maeve, Diar, Catelynn, Sabien.

Background: After a week in Cairhien the invitations piling up at the Moderal residence were beginning to become overwhelming. Jaice was convinced they should be ignored; after all, she wasn't a Tower delegate no matter what those foolish Shorebound Nobles may think, and she and Maeve had more important work to do, rebuilding a ter'angreal. That surely was more interesting than a stuffy dinner. However, Diar was adamant that some should be accepted -- after all, he was to continue living there even after Jaice was to return to the Tower, and one had to think of appearances. So one pleasant evening, the four made their way to dine at the Bortawin mansion.

Setting: Bortawin Mansion: Cairhien, Cairhien

Having been ushered into the manse by servants, the small invited party idles about, making sure their clothing is all aright and chatting quietly, or perhaps studying artwork such as Diar does. The woven tapestry is indeed a fine piece of work, the brightness of the threadwork a contrsast against almost-Cairhienin garb of dark hues.

Jaice's patterned hands remain still at her sides, resting lightly on the intricate silk of her gown. Her voice is quiet as she murmurs softly to Celebril, but as footsteps approach, she turns languidly to cast blue eyes toward their owner, her expression unreadable as ever.

Green and gold liveried servant, obviously spruced up from his normal impeccable attire, offers a respectful bow to the honoured guests. "If you please, follow me to the dining hall. Your presence is most eagerly awaited." With another bow and a grand sweep of his arm, he takes steps towards the double doors, as yet closed from foyer view.

Foyer: Bortawin Manse, Cairhien
Dominating the room, a large, graceful staircase assaults the eyes with noble intent, upper banisters extended to either side as if in welcome. Its pale marble gown shines healthily from tedious care, extending across the floor in a fall of green-flecked train. Plush gold runs to the foot of the grand staircase, woven in patterns of green ivy and cherry blossoms. To either side of the massive entrance squats cherrywood benches, positioned symmetrically so that its occupants may gaze upon the woven tapestries depicting the rich ancestry of this House. Below the tapestries, carved into the walls itself are various niches, each holding a small art piece. Light for the room is yielded both by sconces alternating with the niches and an elegant crystal chandelier suspended a good distance from the floor.
In the full heat of summer, whatever breeze can be coaxed into the hall is welcomed by fully open tall windows. The marble floor keeps the air of the foyer relatively cool throughout the season. Morning sun angles through the room seeking out sleepy corners to awaken them for the coming day. The household has long since risen, however, evident from the faint hints of bustle and perhaps an aroma or two wafting in from the distant kitchen.
To the right of the staircase stands imposing oak double doors, paneled with gracefully curved doorhandles leading to what looks to be a parlor. To the stairs' left is a similarly bedecked door, leading to a ballroom, from the looks of it. A third set of double doors keeps its destination hidden from view. Private -rooms- are upstairs.

An image of patience, so far at least, Maeve waits by Diar's side, occasionally murmuring something to him but seeming rather caught up in some thoughts of her own. Even so, when the servant arrives invite them in, she does show some signs of relief, as if it had started to itch, all this idle art-watching hardly being to her liking.

Celebril turns an interested glance to the servant, and nods his acquiescence with a small, proper bowing of his head. Wordlessly, he offers an arm to Jaice, the slender Sea Fold maid, and makes as if to follow the man.

The door is flung open with a gesture reminiscent of a gleeman's pose to reveal what indeed is a dining hall.

Jaice takes Celebril's arm with a gracious nod -- with that unreadable expression and proud set to her chin she certainly does seem the part the rumours set her to be. As Celebril's steps take him toward the dining hall, Jaice walks with him.

Ahh. At last," Diar murmurs to his companions, glancing to the doors before following his fellow Andoran's example and offers his arm to Maeve, his faint smile more than plaina s he glances at her. "Well, cousin. On with the show." And with that, he walks in, letting the other pair take pride of place.

[Dining Hall: Bortawin Manse, Cairhien]

The hushed conversation Catelynn is holding with another servant, this one no less crisply appareled, is abruptly ended as the slight lady of Bortawin House diverts her full attention towards her guests. "Welcome," she extends a lissom arm in greeting "to our humble home. I was most pleased to receive your acquiescence to our invitation."

Entering on Diar's arm, Maeve finishes whatever it was she just told him precisely in time to adopt a gracious smile for anyone who might be watching for such things, though a lingering gleam of silver continues to brighten her gaze as it sweeps over the room -- alert and curious as always. It falls, in the end, upon Catelynn, brushing casually yet observantly over her. However, with a glance over at Diar, she leaves the introductions up to him.

Diar glances briefly around at the finery and array of dinner, the mixtures of woven hues and darker stones, Maeve upon his arm as they come behind Celebril and Jaice. At the official welcome to the household, he makes his elegant half-bow, a momentary bowing of his head. "We thank you, Lady, indeed. I think I speak for all when I say that this dinner has been anticipated." Moving forward now that there's ample space, he settles himself and his lady companion next to the guests twice-over. "Shall I provide introductions, Girithlin, or... ?"

"My lady Catelynn, you are as fair a hostess as you are an artist," Celebril begins--again, holding quite surprisingly to courtly proprieties--and as he bows gracefully, continues. "It is always a pleasure, of course. Have you yet had the opportunity to acquaint yourself with my dear friend, Jaice of the White Tower?" Apparently, Celebril allows his response to answer Diar's question--and a flash of a smile towards that other man affirms it.

Jaice makes her way silently toward Catelynn, her arm resting lightly on Celebril's as her blue gaze rests musingly on the room's occupants, then finally on their host herself. Her dark dress and complexion contrasts sharply with the golden-haired blademaster at her side, and as he introduces her, she inclines her head in brief acknowledgement, her voice sounding smoothly. "A pleasure to make your aquaintance, Lady Catelynn. How generous of you to invite us to your home, this evening." None of her thoughts are betrayed by her Sea Folk placidity... which is probably good, for behind that slight smile she's trying to remember everything Atalanta taught her of Cairhien.

Catelynn now allows her original welcoming gesture to motion towards the head table already prepared for the occasion. Leaving that as silent invitation for seating at their leisure, she adopts her careful smile, its quality lightening her features and yet hinting at the youth she still bears. "Indeed, my Lord Celebril, I had chanced upon Accepted Jaice at some opportune meeting in the streets of Tar Valon. A pleasure to make they acquaintance once again." Cerulean gaze sweeps towards the other couple now, having already determined their identities, but having no formal name to attach yet. "My Uncle will be joining us shortly."

Diar grins a moment, grey eyes bright with humor even as he looks to the lady on his own arm. He mutters to Maeve, "... names,... with..." And then, another smile that falters for an instant after giving Catelynn time to speak her words, and his voice lifts up to be more easily heard. "And the lady on my arm, Lady Maeve Ygraine di'Zhiaara-Cathal of Saldaea. A house quite ancient and noble, indeed." And with that, taking a breath, glancing towards Jaice with a dubiously amused expression, he moves to find a place.

Tilted eyes of grey and silver miss little of what passes between hostess and guests, yet Maeve's study of those around her is casual and subtle, like the smile which curves her lips as she waits, still remarcably patient for those who know her well. Angular features betray nothing of what is on her mind, yet as she moves forward by Diar's side to acknowledge the welcome the her manners seem genuine and pleasant enough, suggesting that restraint rather than reserve is what she practices this evening. "A pleasure, Lady Catelynn, and an honour as well to be invited here." She inclines her head smoothly, a russet lock falling forward to caress a smooth cheek.

Relaxing just within the field of vision, the muscles of Celebril's neck drain of tension as Catelynn speaks--and one might note how she says Uncle, and not Cousin. "Lord Diar Moderal," the golden-haired Captain of Caemlyn smootly introduces the one so named, "...I give you the Lady Catelynn Bortawin." And with that, he follows to his seat as directed.

"I remember," Jaice says with a hint of amusement, her thoughtful gaze meeting the other woman's features again. "As I recall I had gotten myself lost; that was quite a long while ago." She takes a seat next to the golden-haired gentleman, her skirts rustling with the movement. "Cairhien is admittedly much easier to find one's way about."

"Lord Diar Moderal, Lady Maeve Ygraine di'Zhiaara-Cathal, Lord Celebril Girithlin and Lady Jaice of the White Tower," Catelynn intones in the lilting soprano that is the gift of her voice, "Be welcome to House Bortawin. Grace favour you and I hope that what we humbly offer is of acceptable entertainment." The smile, always on, accompanies her glance towards the triad of musicians setting up unobtrusively towards the middle of the room. At her silent signal, they begin a soothing melody, designed to accompany dinner rather than inspire a dance. "Indeed?" she inclines her head towards Jaice as she takes her allotted seat a the table. "I had thought it merely a factor of returning home again."

Maeve gracefully takes a seat beside the one chosen by Diar, briefly leaning in closer to him. She mutters to Diar, "... from... might..." She smiles at him, a little too sweetly for a moment, then turns away to once more overlook the small gathering while discreetly arranging the fall of her skirt, the green silk rustling softly when brushed smooth.

Disengaging himself from Maeve's arm, Diar pulls out a chair for her and holds it until she is seated, already beginning to roll forward into his more customary banter, quite honed for a dinner such as this. "Tar Valon has a beauty to it, but the streets meander crookedly; what happens when the island is pointing the wrong way." Once Maeve is settled, he sits as well, tugging briefly at the sleeve of his coat. "There were, as I recall, a fair amount of the nobility of Cairhien in Tar Valon not so long before -- you were among them, Lady Catelynn?"

Seeming quite content to leave dinner conversation to his companions and their hostess, Celebril accepts a proffered goblet, of fine crystal, from a circulating server in the green-and-gold. Holding the vessel just beneath his nose, the Andoran lord sniffs the wine within before taking a small sip, and smiling.

Jaice nods agreement to Diar's words, her own voice following leisurely up them. "And even years after leaving the sea I find I am too used to taking the direct route; a square is much simpler to find one's way around. I admit I have learned much exploring your city." That pale gaze meets Celebril's for an instant, before she too accepts a goblet of wine.

Upon cue of the music apparently, a small troop of servants make their way from out the kitchen doors bearing a light Riesling wine or chenin blanc for each of the guests; of course they are provided the choice. For her part, Catelynn accepts the former, nodding approval to the servant at her side before answering Diar's question. "Indeed my Lord. I had the opportunity to visit the city of legends; it certainly did not disappoint. I had the chance, even, to meet some of the Aes Sedai of the White Tower." Despite the control of her entire composure, one cannot miss Catelynn's appraising glance towards the Tower representative. Meanwhile, the servants are offering some bread and a smoothly creamy soup with a few bits of vegetables in it.

Jaice reveals nothing with the pleasantly acknowledging smile aimed in Catelynn's direction, only inclining her head as she mentions the Aes Sedai. "Indeed. Were you granted a tour of the Tower, as well?"

(Doh. Here Jaice had to idle for RL for a long while so fell mysteriously silent. ;) )

While pleasantries which mostly concern Tar Valon... and the Tower are exchanged, Maeve remains silent, perhaps suspiciously so. She too accepts a goblet of fine wine, bringing it to her lips to savour the rich flavour, grey eyes meanwhile never for a moment ceasing that casual, yet keen study of the ongoings.

Celebril leans back a bit in his chair, straightening as a bowl of soup is placed before him. Inhaling of the brew's scent as he glances about the table in a rather neutral, noncommittal fashion, the Captain in him finally comes out. Taking up a spoon as the bread is placed before him, Lord Elendril sets to his creamy soup with a certain degree of eagerness.

Taking food as offered, Diar has already taken a healthy drink of wine to prepare the palate for the meal. Listening to the talk of Aes Sedai and the White Tower, his smiles are quite meaningless as he falls to a passing silence. Tasting the soup, trying the bread, he seems (for the moment) more concerned with the dinner than discussion Jaice handles deftly.

"How did you and yours pass the Feast of Lights, Lady? We found it rather .. enjoyable, if disorganized." Quite suddenly he speaks, after noting the certain silences which he had not expected, and attempting to fill it. "Though I found some quite too confident during the feast where all is turned upside-down."

"Not of the Tower unfortunately," Catelynn answers between miniscule sips of her glass. "Though I did manage to get myself lost in the city only to find myself in the Courtyard. The Tower is even more impressive that close as from any other vantage within the city." While the servants file out, having completed their duties for the nonce, Catelynn moves into a logical extension of the topic. "It gladdens me to hear that you have found our city favourable. What brings you to visit?" she addresses Jaice first before answering Diar's question "Well, considering I barely saw Uncle or Cousin, perhaps a glimpse or so of my elder siblings, it went fairly well. Quite a bit more exuberance in Cairhien's citizen than I have seen in a number of years."

"For myself, I was rather disappointed to miss the Feast of Lights," Celebril says, his soup-spoon held loosely between slender fingers. The fact that he is actually speaking is somewhat surprising, but his tone is conversational and in no way extraordinary. "Unfortunately, other matters held me behind in Tar Valon for a bit--I'm told you won a swordsmanship exhibition?" A golden eyebrow arches as he tilts his head towards Diar.

Delicately setting down her spoon for a moment, having tried the soup as well, Maeve smiles just a touch wryly at Diar's words, adding her thoughts on the matter in a smoothly pleasant voice. "Quite enjoyable, and an, how to put it... interesting first look at Cairhien." She cannot quite keep a glimmer of silver out of her eyes, though the mischief of it is... moderated, at least. "Which is, in any case, a welcome change of scenery." From what, she does not say, and as Celebril speaks her attention slips to Diar again, the glance she gives him rather telling.

A low laugh of recollection, drowned by another sip of the rich wine, and Diar is surely amused. "We haven't spoken of it? Actually, yes, I did; I fear the competition was ... less than challenging. Half the men fled after I had beaten the good lord Asher -- do you know him, Lady Catelynn? He seems to have a distaste for my fellow countrymen." Watchful eyes, though the words come easily enough, and then Diar turns casually back to his meal, finding the soup actually quite to his taste.

That golden eyebrow--the one that arches so languidly over Celebril's right eye, a sapphirine orb--rises further after Diar's exposition upon the Lord Asher. "A distaste for Andormen, Moderal? He's been quite cordial in several encounters I've had with the man..."

"Cairhienin can be quite the contradictory sort, Lady Maeve." Could that be a chuckle from the reserved girl playing at games? "A change of scenery? Perhaps you have recently arrived from Tar Valon as well?" She asks the question more out of clarification; surely they had traveled together. "Lord Asher? I don't believe I have made his acquaintance, though I have heard his name titling him a general."

Quite obviously Saldaean, save perhaps for those pale eyes, grey skies touched with hints of silver, one might suspect Maeve to be a neutral observer only of any tension between Andorans and Cairhienin. Yet, as Diar speaks her smile grows more than a little amused, and as Celebril comments there's no mistaking the wry humor in her expression -- and tone of voice. "Perhaps a distate merely for a certain kind of Andorman?" Her glance strays Diar's way again, then shifts to Catelynn as the latter speaks. "I can be quite contradictory myself, so perhaps it was a good idea to come here, " she replies smoothly, "And yes, Tar Valon was... the latest stop for me as well, before coming here that is."

"Lets see, what did he call me... this general ... Ahh, I recall now," Diar says as he meditates over his wine again, brow furrowed in thought except for when he glances ruefully at Maeve's jibe. "I had offered to handicap myself, by fighting with the left hand or so. He said my 'arrogance' was enough of a handicap, but he had 'expected no less from an Andoran.'" The last is said in a passably exaggerated example of how Asher might have said it. "Perhaps he would have understood if I had been allowed to wear my swords; though most of the others could tell I had the skill for the heron-mark, he seemed not to note it. Ahh me." A pleasant smile, self-indulgent in the pleasure it takes in having bested _that_ one, before he takes another healthy sip of the wine and listening in as he again takes to the soup.

Sabien steps through from the doorway of the ballroom.

The oaken doors are thrown to by two burly servants and Sabien stands on the verge of entering the room, observing those already within.

Catelynn's obliging chuckle at Diar's tale is no less than expected according to her experience, but at that particular moment, she had just taken a small bite of some bread. Washing it down with another sip of the golden liquid of her glass "It seems I'm in the company of elite of the land, no matter that you are not of our country. A happy circumstance for our citizens to have a chance to learn of you." Question lingers on the edges of that statement, the hostess' eyes deceivingly alighting on any and every aspect of the room as well as her companions. Upon Sabien's arrival, she calls out "Uncle, I am glad you could join us," with a gentle motion to the only remaining place set at the table. Wine, bread and soup have already been served.

"I wouldn't quite name your arrogance a handicap, Diar... though what to name it I do not know." Maeve reaches out for her goblet of wine once more, pausing with it halfways to her red lips to offer Diar a faintly amused, yet ever so gracious smile. "You will, I trust, give me some more time to consider it? One of these days I will figure it out." She stops there, eyes drawn from her companion to the new arrival in the room, and tilting her head ever so faintly she takes a moment or two to study the man before inclining her head gracefully.

Sabien takes a couple steps into the room and as the doors are sealed up he answers Catelynn, "Greetings my niece, and of course I am delighted to entertain so noble guests," assizing the tenor of the conversation, he slowly makes his way across the room as if on parade, shortly joining Catelynn where she is seated.

Setting the spoon he has down after tasting more of the well-made soup that has been provided, Diar begins to reply to Maeve as he reaches for his glass, when the doors are thrown open and Catelynn is ushering the man in. Seeing her uncle, a momentary but thorough study ensues -- and then a smile, a murmured greeting to Sabien. "Well met, sir," he says, going so far as to rise and give a brief bow before seating himself down once more. "Now, as I was about to say, I'm not even sure I'd name it arrogance myself; it's simply confidence. I'm sure Girithlin could explain it -- it's quite a necessary part of the mastery. The herons don't stay long with one who isn't confident; only the ravens, feasting on his corpse."

Sabien regards the speeches being bandied about and though there are no herons upon the ornamental blade he bears he offers his own suggestion, "Indeed no blade stays long in the hand of a timid man."

Silent while she tastes more of the soup, not one to let too much talking occupy her full attention when such delicious food has been served, Maeve then lifts a napkin to her lips before replying, that touch of almost sly amusement still present in her voice. "Confidence is a virtue, I would be the last to deny that, yet... sometimes I find it more efficient not to waste time to announce that one possesses it." Delicately breaking off a piece of bread, she glances at Diar out of the corner of one eye.

"Just the word to use, lord," Diar says quickly, with a bright smile that fades as he begins to speak once more. "A timid man -- or woman, though that's rare enough -- is set to die if he takes up a blade. Once, twice -- luck. But more, well. Too timid. I have been on the Borderlands, and have seen the Blight, and fought upon it. They don't breed timid men in Shienar and Kandor, in Arafel and Saldaea." Then, a passing moment, and a suggestive sidelong look to Maeve. "Or women, for that matter. Though, I suppose such thigns are not fit for the dining table, Lady Catelynn; my apologies. Tell me ... how fares your noble house? The word has it you have had some good fortunes, and some bad; a certain member, his name escapes me, lost a duel in Tar Valon as I recall."

Sabien mutters something incomprehensible under his breath at the last comment, before taking a seat opposite Catelynn, "My son has not been so astute in his studies of the martial arts. Perhaps it is my fault, for I have seen the blood of many battles and thought to preserve him from that," calling attention to himself seems natural to the man so flamboyantly dressed.

Talk of blades and skill go well beyond Catelynn's education, inspiring her choice to direct her attention towards Maeve and Jaice, "You have mentioned touring our city, I trust you have had the opportunity to explore gardens and its like? The palace has quite an impressive yet peaceful offering for grounds." There is an unspoken offer to host that tour as well, should it be required before she swivels ebon-curled head towards Diar's question. "A duel I did not attend, my Lord. My Cousin had the misfortune to involve himself in a conflict with House Rhinorth." Despite her placidity, her tones convey a faint hint of her opinion on that count; one of displeasure. "But the return to Cairhien and all the possibilities will surely place that incident as insignificant history."

Several serving maids enter the room in file, bearing replenishments to the emptying contents of several platters and bowls. One, a rather portly old woman barks commands to several younger girls though she is all quiet obeisance upon glancing toward any of the nobles.

Sabien takes a proffered bowl of soup while awaiting any response to his interjection into the conversation, patiently following the ebb and flow of it.

The musicians have indeed succeeded in remaining unobtrusive, their chosen melodies providing supportive accent to the atmosphere of refined nobility being presented.

"Yes, of course. My apologies for mentioning it, I can see how it would be a touchy matter -- The loss of the latest monarch, if we might go in that direction ... It hasn't really managed to throw Cairhien into chaos, from what I can see; in other lands, the uncertain succession would mean war," Diar says in conversational tones, the soup now more forgotten, the glass raised to be refilled and drunken from once more. "The Houses, surely Bortawin among them, have been quite agreeable with one another, it seems, to maintain this peace; a worthy accomplishment."

A pleased little smile tugs at the corners of Maeve's lips at Diar's comment, though she refrains from further voicing her thoughts on the matter, and as Catelynn turns to her and Jaice takes the opportunity to speak of something else. Not that talk of swords and duels is of no interest to her, but there's that restraint again, so far holding. "I fear that we've not seen as much as we would have liked to, not yet. We've been quite caught up in... exchanging stories, and getting settled as well. And of course, the weather has been less than kind." A slightly apologetic smile, "We'll have to make up for it."

Sabien clears his throat addressing Diar in equally pleasant tones, "You say you served on the blight, tell me of that. The last action I saw was during the Aiel wars, after which I devoted the most of my time to readying my son for ascendancy," shifting in his seat to listen to any offered response, Sabien smiles pleasantly, folding his hands on the table.

If Catelynn caught the minute pause in Maeve's explanation of their preoccupation, she makes no sign of it, only inclining her head amiably at the words' face value. "Indeed, my Lady. If thou hast wish for a guide of sorts, I shall be more than happy to offer my company." A pause in her speech as a server politely removes her barely eaten soup to replace it with the platter in preparation for the next course. "I take that to mean you have not visited Cairhien before."

A long pause from Diar, as he makes sure the servant does not skimp on filling his glass -- none of that 'half-full, please' bother from him -- and then he collects his thoughts, thinking back. "Well, my lord, it has been ... oh, a good seven or eight years now. Little enough happened, and I would not say I 'served.' I studied under Osa Musada, and occasionally hunted in the Blight, or provided aid in the butcher's work of dealing with Trollocs. The occasional Halfman provided some testing, but otherwise... just butchery. Lately there seems to have been some infighting among the Borderlanders. That.. now, that is something to speak of. Borderlanders do not fight one another; they have the Blight."

"This is my first visit," Jaice says lightly, taking the pause in conversation to insert a few words. "Studies at the Tower had prevented me before." True enough words, even if they evade the nature of her visit. "Your Feast of Lights is unlike anything I've seen."

The portly woman, liveried in a massive green dress with the crest of House Bortawin emblazened upon the breast instructs the several younger women and not a few young boys in an orchestra of interweaving service. When they are finished with their ministrations they line up and march neatly out of the hall, leaving the next course in their wake, a crown roast cooked so that the savory meat will melt in the mouths of the patrons. Beside the roast mounds of fruits are in a bowl and light beverages of wine from various countries are available, a servant stationing him or herself about the table where requests can be most efficiently granted.

A casual glance over at Jaice, then Maeve inclines her head in return, "Most kind of you to offer. If the opportunity presents itself it would most welcome to have a guide native to the city, for indeed, it is my first visit to Cairhien." A slight pause, to once more sips from the wine in her goblet. "I have yet to decide for how long it will last, I do tend to grow somewhat restless." A stray look over at Diar, perhaps elicited by what he said, or perhaps that added comment of hers was meant for him.

Tapping a finger at each mention of what he would consider 'legendary creatures of the night used to fill childhood with the required discipline,' Sabien agrees with your commentary on war. "Though I have not fought the creatures you have encountered, I have matched wits with Aielmen, though thankfully I was not among those for which they sought, else my head might be on a spears' head in the Waste somewhere. To think, I once travelled the Silk Path in peace, ah, but for the foolishness of foolish kings, but, of course, there are more pleasant things to discuss."

"Well come then," is Catelynn's mild response, followed by another chuckle at the assessment of the Feast of Lights "I have heard such pronouncement from many observers and even participants of the Feast's events" The servants instigate another halt of her speech, though her gaze never rests upon anything that would not yield fruit to what observations she may be storing in her head. "And your studies have been concluded at the Tower?" she asks Jaice, "I was under belief that Tower apprentices do not stray far from the White Tower."

"I would urge you to stay at least some little while, Lady Maeve," the hostess encourages. "There is much of Cairhien that any visitor must not pass up."

"Studies do not cease," Jaice says in polite return, "Even for the oldest Aes Sedai within the Tower walls. As any Brown Sister would tell you." Amusement colours her voice, holding even when she cocks her head thoughtfully. "The Tower sent me here unexpectedly, but I am sure the Amyrlin will be interested by my report." Let them make what they want from that statement.

"Indeed, I have found that so, Lady Catelynn. Cairhien is not new to me," Diar says before another sip of wine, taking pause from his separate conversation with Sabien -- which soon resumes. "The Silk Path? Now there's a worthy tale; I thought only merchants, gleemen, and Tinkers were allowed that road. As for the Aielmen -- other than hearing the rumors in Foregate of black-vieled Aiel prowling through the kingdom, I've never seen one. Though I have had comments saying I look as one -- Rather glad I don't. Stalwart warriors, but savage, from all my father has told me of them. He too has fought them." And more sips of wine, as if it were water; Diar seems to have no taste for moderation.

"It is my impression as well that studies at the White Tower are never quite concluded, " Maeve interjects with a wry smile curving her lips, one which not quite matches the faint gleam in her gaze, resting for a moment upon Catelynn before it drifts again, this time finding Sabien. There's no question, however, that her amusement over the way Sabien responds to Diar's... promotion of himself, is quite real. "Aielmen? If now Diar's colouring might make him resemble one, and his height as well, and I must say that in that case I prefer facing Trollocs." Her smile is almost playful as she adds; "So much easier to put an arrow through a foul than a pretty creature."

Sabien shoots a quick glance at the Sea Folk woman wearing Aes Sedai garb, before returning his full intention to his conversation with Diar. In explanation of his journeys along the Silk Path he offers, "My father commissioned me lord of Teslon-Upon-Dragonwall at a young age, knowing my elder brother would replace him as High Seat when the time came. If you are unfamiliar with the town I am not that surprised, it is wedged into the northeastern corner between Kinslayer's Dagger and the Dragonwall," after assuring himself the general geography is understood well enough. "My curiosity was piqued at a young age, and when my father died and my brother ascended to the High Seat I was no longer withheld, so I personally ventured forth to check our interests both within the waste and into Shara."

Aes Sedai garb nothing. Jaice is wearing a gown in the Cairhien style, tonight. She arches a brow at Maeve, swirling the wine in her loosely-held goblet.

Catelynn's smile of agreement is much like any other smile she wears for company; careful, quiet and conveying anything from acceptance to enthusiastic acquiescence, perhaps even to calculated displeasure. "Indeed, these are much the same words I hear of my own instructors. Though I am not of the Tower-trained, I have some understanding of that. I do hope your report reflects on your stay here favourably." She continues to leave her Uncle to his talk of forays and its like.

Diar's decidedly notable silence is aimed at Maeve, an unreably calm look given over to her .. before he smiles again, almost passive. "Shara -- I have travelled to many places, from the islands of the Sea Folk to Tarwin's Gap in the Blight. But beyond the Spine of the World, never. Someday, perhaps," he says thoughtfully, and with a certain hopefulness... "Perhaps have great adventures, or lie about them, and write as Farstrider did -- Was he very accurate, lord, I wonder? As you have been to the places he had travelled to before, or so he claimed." The womens talk of the Tower certainly draws no attention, though in the pauses he listens, or at least seems to as he drinks from his glass.

"Undoubtedly," Jaice agrees, a somewhat dry tone coming to her voice with her next words. "I've no doubt the Amyrlin will want to know every last detail of my adventures here." She pauses, then adds seemingly by way of explanation, "She is a very thorough woman. Wouldn't you agree Maeve?" The Atha'an Miere's attention is then briefly diverted as Diar mentions sea folk islands.

Even as Diar appears unattentive to the discussion of the tower, so also does Sabien, apparently content to let women's business be handled by women, which is likely the most prudent course. "I do not know if what he said he saw in the interior of Shara is accurate. These days they escort you into a walled town and you are assigned a tavern to stay in on pains of death if you do anything that violate their intricate customs. I was steeped in Daes Dae`mar since birth, even attained some measure of proficiency in the game at a young age, but their rules are unfathomable. But the profits of retrieving the fine wares they possess makes it worth the risk, even if their magistrates, as best as I can explain their leaders are called, are as unreadable as the weather."

Slender fingers lightly, elegantly hold her goblet still, now and then bringing it to her lips, in fact increasingly often as the dinner progresses. The silence from Diar's side towards her does not seem to bother Maeve the least, if anything her smile grows more prominent, and with her free hand she reaches out to lightly brush over his arm, a brief and casual gesture, "Do restrain yourself Diar, don't make up too many plans for the nearest future." Rather than looking at him as she speaks, she has once again turned to Jaice, offering her reply in a dryly humourd tone. "That fits my observations like a glove, Jaice. I am sure not even the most trivial detail will be overlooked."

At a table in the corner of the room the servants have finally finished the preparations of the main course, roast decorously placed in the midst of flowering greens, colors making the entree as pleasant to look upon as the aromas suggest it may be to eat. Slowly the servants begin to intersperse themselves among the guests, carefully setting the plates before them, careful indeed to in no way impede any conversation.

"Indeed my Lady?" Catelynn addresses Maeve's answer to Jaice's prompting "I had not the honour of meeting the Amyrlin herself during my stay in Tar Valon. She is as legendary as the Tower itself it seems. I had not realized you knew her well enough to make such an observation." Calmly, she sweeps azure gaze towards the preparations imminent, politely dabbing at garnet-touched lips at some imagined crumb or so. "I am curious how much of the legend is indeed truth. I am told she can command legions with a single glance and its like."

Diar moves slightly in his seat, giving a servant room to set down the main course without thinking of it all, something long ago ingrained in him and never quite shaken. "Quite interesting, indeed. I should think -- Well, the Sharrans, as Farstrider wrote, lie even of the name of their land. The Land of the Thousand Names, some chroniclers give it. An interesting people." He falls silent as he studies the meal and then takes up knife and fork to begin the work of the cutting as he goes on, "And their soldiers? I have always wondered what sort of armies Sharra may have, though I suspect we shall never see them this side of the Spine. Not with the Aiel intervening."

Tones of flute and lute dance upon the air, still soft as to merely caress the ambiance of the dining hall rather than calling overt notice to its performance. The musicians have been well instructed indeed. The melody they are currently plying is not wholly mellifluous enough to induce somnolence, and yet not lively enough to detract from the seated activity of the party.

Celebril, who has remained quiet throughout the better part of this meal, continues on just as he has all along. Now that he has finished his entree, however, the golden-haired lord seems quite content to sit back in his chair, wine in hand, and listen to the conversations around him at his discretion.

Her answer delayed as Maeve is served of the roast, it nevertheless comes smoothly when she does speak, red lips curving into a softly amused smile. "A matter of relations, my Lady." A pause, to briefly take in with eyes and other senses the food just put onto her plate, and then she adds with a light nod in Diar's direction. "The Amyrlin's Gaidin happens to be a cousin, I believe, of Diar's." She lifts fork and knife, making another pause, a soft chuckle before she speaks again. "Even the most illustrous of people have relatives one might not have expected them to have."

Sabien leaves his own portion untouched as he continues the discussion, "Indeed that is an interesting notion, though perhaps the reason they have sealed off their massive country is internal rather then external? Perhaps their forces are inadequate to challenge an army from the West, if the forces of our myriad countries were combined. But this is only mindless speculation, especially in light of the strictness of security they maintain, that and the fabled Cliffs of Dawn," pausing to allow a servant to remove his soupbowl and spoons, "I doubt however it is weakness which causes their paranoia."

Snapped out of conversation with the mention of himself, Diar tries to gather what was being discussed of before saying, "Oh. Yes, well, Coerel. Yes, for a Mayenere, he's quite... plain. To think he has me for a cousin, it's quite strange. Of course, the blademastery seems to run in the family. Apparently my great-grandfather was a noted swordsman in the south..." After that tidbit offered, he begins to eat, savoring the richly-roasted meat, letting the wine provide a favorable touch of sweetness, and to wash it down. "He's away, apparently, in Tear no doubt from whispers I have heard -- a place he has little love for as is proper, but his fool oaths bind him to the commands of women." A shrug, and returns to showing his enjoyment of the meal by eating it.

Relations to the Amyrlin's Gaidin; the information is stored dutifully somewhere beneath glittering combs and lustrous curls, its effect on Catelynn's esteem of just who she has been sharing her meal with almost evident in a lift of a brow. Instead, she drops her attention to ministrations of her own plate; the meat daintily divided into smaller pieces for more genteel consumption. "Indeed? Well, a shame that he is unable to join us for this meal. I do enjoy meeting fascinating people such as yourselves and your kin."

Enjoining the larger conversation as well, Sabien bolsters Catelynn's declaration with, "As do we all." and to ask further, "Come tell me how fares our neighbors to the west, good Diar," having been briefed in the names of the guests, "I know well enough of Tar Valon having shortly journeyed from that most legendary of cities, but ever am I curious as to international events."

A nod of approval slips in between a slice of roast and a healthy sip of wine, and for a little Maeve returns to her initial silence as she enjoys the food. But, not for long, with more than a goblet of fine wine consumed she is quick to comment on most everything, and now always with a sly gleam in her eyes and a bemused quality to her smoothly pleasant voice. "Lady Catelynn, trust me when I say that two of his kind, which two of his family-- " a sudden pause there, covered but not quite by how she reaches for the napkin and presses it to her lips before continuing, "Trust me when I say it is one too many, if not two at times."

Seeing that the guests have been adequately provided for, all but a few of the servants remove themselves to the kitchens, perhaps preparing for the next course. Upon their exit, the musicians take up the song they had forgotten, a gentle soothing tune which provides subtle accompaniment to the discussions.

Making a consideration, the soft strains of the music having occupied Diar's thoughts for a moment, he sets down the fine utensils and again takes to his glass of wine, settling back in his seat -- then frowning at Maeve and her comments. "Yes, well ... I fear I must say I have a poor opinion of Tar Valon, and am biased rather against the place. No nobility, all of it is run by the women of the Tower. Though if you ask they shall say they rule by consent of the people, or some such rubbish. As they will. When I left it, and gladly, it was quiet enough. Much too quiet, actually. It's a sad little place, with a cold and eternal beauty. Only the Ogier Grove brightened it, and the bridges over the river." Almost ... elegaic, though the words are more to the great cities flaws than perfections. A long sip of wine caps the words, and a vaguely annoyed glance to Maeve.

The smile flitting between adornation and its lack on Catelynn's features takes on a faint hint of amusement beyond the courteous one of her wont. "Indeed my Lady, I have often thought the same of my elder brother. A shame he is a number of miles away and cannot be part of this illustrious gathering." Catching Diar's response at the comment, she prudently decides to mind her own wine glass for the moment, as well as a healthy helping of the food on her plate; it keeps her silent at least.

Sabien neither cowers under the prospect of what the Aes Sedai response to Diar's insinuations might be, nor adds any fuel or fan to that inevitable flame; rather he makes a placating remark of an immediate sort of diplomacy, "Surely you cannot say this unequivocably, my lord Diar, for despite all its faults, the Tower has been often as not a blessing upon the world. " His ambiguous statement is typical of those dealing with Tar Valon.

Jaice's thoughtful blue gaze passes over Diar at his none-too-complimentary words of Tar Valon, and she shrugs a shoulder, a minute movement that is no more telling than her placid expression. She might agree with some of that; she might not. There's no telling from her expression. "The Tower does seek to serve its people," the Atha'an Miere woman says easily. "And it does much to do so. But it is understandable that many might be afeared of that they do not entirely understand." A hint of dry amusement flashes to her eyes, as she lifts her fork to her mouth.

Immunte to, if not even thriving off those glances from Diar, one might suspect that a little more food and a touch less wine would have suited Maeve better. Oh, she does seem to appreciate the food well enough, but the liquid within the ornate goblet even more. And, as the discussion once more centers briefly around the Tower, the emotions revealed by her always expressive eyes are more vivid than previously, not so much left of the restraint she brought with her. "I do believe it can be discussed whether the Tower retains the goals it once was formed with, or if the years have... clouded its vision somewhat." She sits back in her seat, her manner almost languidly idle for a moment, though her voice remains nothing but pleasant.

Noting Catelynn's silence, Diar is little bothered -- though Sabien's following comment leads him to a pause, quite well filled by Jaice's word. His smile turns acerbic, as his reply finds an edge. "The Grand Alliance rose out of necessity, and fell apart because of the meddlings of the Tower; and before that, has it been a thousand years since the Tower has last aided 'the people?' The Queens of Andor hold my undying loyalty, even if they look to the Tower at times; but I shan't look to it. Not after dealing with the brutes and the shrews that populate its emptied halls." Another drink of wine -- and another, before he adds. "Never take gifts, my father told me, and you'll never be in debt. Never take a gift from a Sister of the Tower, and your life is more likely to be long. But, oh well, I'll accept if someone put forwards it has done _some_ good. More for the individuals, than for the organization."

Sabien touches his own goblet as if calling a servant over to fill it (which is done in short order) before offering some alleviation. "I am also a student of history Diar, and although what you have proposed is filled with page after page of examples from war after war it is the legend that the tower represents that is the hope that the wars which men wage will someday end."

Catelynn's long determined policy that silence can yield as fruitful an observation as participation holds true once more. Merely nodding at the various opinions presented, she makes studious act of giving tribute to the food in front of her. It is only after her Uncle speaks up again that she ventures a soft, almost murmured offer to the conversation. "As any long-standing organization, unless kept strictly small and hence adhered to its original goals, it cannot help but expand in complexity with the rigours of its dealings with the rest of the land. I'm sure the Tower is no less subject to this than the Sun Throne."

Fully understanding the need to portray the Tower as a united entity, Jaice merely smiles at Diar, pleasant enough but one that might just set one's hair on edge. "Of course my friend," she says smoothly, still holding that hint of amusement to those blue eyes. "No one said you had to seek the Tower's help in anything. But it is there, for those that do need it. I have spoken with the Amyrlin herself on the Tower's goals; and it comes from her, that the Tower is no less committed to fighting the Dark than it was thousands of years ago."

"Mrm. Perhaps so. Not that the Tower actually fights the Dark any longer," Diar replies, giving another shrug. "That falls to the Borderlands, may they always stand unbent, unbowed, and unbroken. It is easy to be committed to something that is no longer a concern. Committed to peace when there is no war, committed to loyalty when there is none to be loyal to, and committed to fighting the Dark when the Dark is a good hundred leagues and more away." Glancing to Maeve, who has fallen silent, he tires to gauge the response .. and notes her seeming vaguely ill; at the least, her color is high and a faint sheen of sweat is upon her brow. He leans over to murmur a question to her, listening to the response closely.

"I do not know of a Green sister, except perhaps those newly raised, who have not been to the Blight themselves to help the fight there." Jaice arches a brow knowingly at Diar, pausing to sip at her wine. As Diar takes note of Maeve, so does she; and she casts her friend a questioning glance.

Diar's question directed towards Maeve and the lady's appearance is not lost upon the hostess of the gathering, a frown of concern marring alabaster brow. "Perhaps we may offer some sort of respite for the Lady? You are more than welcome to rest in the parlour or perhaps in one of our spare rooms upstairs."

A moment's pause, and Diar nods to something Maeve says as he takes a napkin to wipe his hands, eyes sweeping apologetically over hosts and fellow guests alike. As afterthought he says, "A Sister does not the Tower make, Jaice, if you will pardon me for saying so. But, I fear Maeve and I must needs leave. At least to take the air. The wine has gotten to her head." He pushes his seat back, rising and helping Maeve from her own seat as he says to Catelynn, "A brief walk outside, lady, may be enough we hope. If not, like as not I'll have to put her to bed; might it be all right to have a carriage ready, if such is the need?"

Sabien offers no rebuttal nor any support to Diar's apparently set opinions. Instead he allows the man continue however he may, waiting till it is appropriate to diffuse any argument that may ensue. Seeing the polite discussion as simply that as yet. His goblet filled he lifts it to his lips to disguise a smile perhaps? Sipping at the wine, he shortly returns it to near the exact position he lifted it from. With a wave of immediate accommodation, Catelynn replies "Of course, my Lord. Our staff and services are yours for the taking should you require it." The gesture clearly signifies more than just acquiescence to the request for a servant promptly disappears from the vicinity, presumably to take care of just that contingency.

The musicians play on, apparently oblivious to the fact that Lady Maeve has taken ill, instead by all appearances within the world they portray by the lilting chords of harp and syballant tantrums on a tiny drum which measures the beat.

Bowing again, Diar murmurs his gratitude as he ushers Maeve out. Celebril and Jaice each recieve a nod and a brief smile, and then a final bow before he moves quickly to catch up with Maeve, taking her arm and speaking softly with her, concern plain, as the doors that were opened for them are shut once more.

Jaice chuckles softly as Diar ushers Maeve out, her own arm brushing momentarily against Celebril's. "Trust him to get in the last word," she says amusedly. One cannot miss the concerned look to her eyes though, as they follow the pair's progress out the door. Servants are sent off in Diar and Maeve's direction to await their needs as the guests see fit, Catelynn seeing to the arrangement with hardly any overt execution. "I do hope the Lady recovers presently. Bortawin wine," she motions to the glasses around the table "is sometimes deceptively light."

Sabien assures Jaice, "If you feel the necessity to look after your companion, by all means," though the completion of his offer is not spoken it is obvious what is meant.

Celebril, who remained quite silent as the discourse raged onward during the meal, finally breaks his self-imposed vow at Jaice's comment. Smiling an ironic smile as he shrugs his shoulders, the table's other Blademaster comments, "Oh, he only likes to think it's his. He never happens to be around for all the words that follow his parting shots, is the difference."

Jaice's lingering gaze remains on the door as she answers Sabien, her head inclining just slightly toward him. "I think that might be best, thank you. The hour has grown late without my noticing it; thanks to your fine cuisine and entertainment." Her smile takes in both hosts then as she says, "I thank you both for the enjoyable evening."

"In any event," Celebril begins with perfect politeness, "I fear that I must be going. I've not practiced yet tonight, and I fear I've eaten far more than my share of these fine victuals. If you will excuse me, Lord and Lady Bortawin," he smiles for the hosts, "I believe that I will accompany Jaice to the Moderal apartments."

Sabien stands despite an untouched meal, preparing to see that the guests needs are met to the last detail. Sabien approaches the oft-silent man with an odd apology, "That evening in Tar Valon, forgive my intrusion."

Catelynn inclines her head echoing the thanks in her lilting tones. "Our thanks that you could grace us with your esteemed presence. Please do not hesitate to call upon me for whatever service I might be able to provide. A tour, or its like."

Jaice stands fluidly, her voluminous skirts doing nothing to hamper that Atha'an Miere grace, and takes Celebril's arm as she inclines her head in return to Catelynn. "I will be sure to," she says pleasantly. "I intend to explore much in your fine city, and your presence would make it all the more enjoyable, I am sure." Polite words, polite gestures, but still she keeps that placidly unreadable expression, one those at the Tower are far too used to. "A pleasant evening to you both." And with that, she begins to make her way out.

The smile never leaves Lord Girithlin's face, and clasping his hands together, the tall young man nods assuringly for the Lord Sabien. "It is no matter," Celebril tells him, "I am not the sort to hold a grudge for such a thing. Quite forgotten, I assure you--and goodnight to you both." With that, he and Jaice depart the hall.