Setting: Common Room: Flaming Arrow Inn, Tar Valon

Cast: Ninian, Alyndara, Kirill, Thrain, Bronwyn, Celebril, Diar, Maeve, Jaice.

Background: With Maeve so recently gone from the Tower -- without word to Jaice -- the slender Atha'an Miere has been beside herself with worry, searching town for Maeve during the brief evenings that she's been able to leave the Tower grounds herself. Jaice has been determined to find her old friend and make sure she's alright, and to find if there's a -reason- the firey Saldeaen left without a word to her best friend. But while Jaice combs the nearby Inns, other plans are being made in the Flaming Arrow...

Alyndara stops grinning, watching them, and bites her lower lip..

Kirill shifts in his chair, mug of ale still frimly gripped in his hand as he watches the exchange about to take place.

Celebril regards the rushed-up folk with that same look of mild curiosity, one eyebrow arched just so--and then his interest fades utterly, and he turns to the barman with a smile. "You know what to get, Serby," the golden-haired lordling instructs the fellow behind the bar, who nods.

Thrain looks around for a way out, his eyes wide.

Alyndara stands unintentionally between Thrain and the door..

Ninian eyes Alydara bbeseechingly and looks Thrain up and down, unable to control herself, "Hello Thrain."

Thrain gulps, "Hello...Ninian."

What might seem a tall Altaran lord, with a coat rather too small for true wearing slung across his shoulders and pinned in place, makes his way into the room with a too-serious expression for so fine-featured a face, such flaming hair which should speak of swift moods. He nimbly steps past obstructions, swords brushing with briefest care as he sniffs-- of all things -- and nears the bar, fingernails under scrutiny.

Thrain sighs and sits at a table.

Thrain sits down at the Fireside Table.

Ninian says awkwardly, "You're here...." begins to rage, "You are here! Here I thought that you had left me forever and ever, never to see you again and here you are right as rain!

Accepting a glass that is made nearly opaque by the thick, dark ale inside it, Celebril flips the barman a coin and turns around to watch the show, leant back on his left elbow. The ex-Captain's look of droll, uncontrolled amusement changes swiftly to a wide grin as another man nears the bar--Diar. "Ha! Look at you, Moderal," the Andoran quips amiably.

Thrain eyes lock on some point on the table, nods at what Ninian says and says softly, "I know..."

Alyndara gives Ninian an encouraging look, and then turns and tiptoes towards the door.

Ninian sputters, "You know? You know! That's all you can say is i know! I want answers, I need for you to talk to me! What's going on Thrain?" flows to where he is seated and kneels before him, laying a hand on his arm, "Tell me, I will do my best to help you, I need you to confide in me though."

Thrain eyes scan the room one more time and sees Alyn leaveing....a worried look comes on his face.

Kirill sets his glass on the bar and picks up his staff. smiling with delight at the woman who has caught her prey with some aid, he shakes his head and walks to the door behind Alyndara. His staff clunks on the wood floor with every other step of his.

Kirill stands leaves the Long Oak Bar.

Thrain shakes his head, and almost whispers, "I can't....

Alyndara sees Thrain look at her and stops, biting her lip as she thinks, and instead of leaving heads back into the room...

Feline-graceful, there's the vaguest skip in the walk that portents a passing deadliness in the seriousness of his expression; Diar glances at the Andoran lord. Hands resting lightly at the bar, a brief quirk of his lips as he says, "And at you, Girithlin -- what, ale like a commoner? Pah. '64, Ghealdanian Red. Rather finer ..." Turning his grey eyes to the commotion behind ... he yawns, lightly. "Filling yourself with gossip both low and high for humor?"

Ninian asks gently, "Why can't you? Give me that, give me an answer.

Thrain stands leaves the Fireside Table.

Thrain sighs, "I need some air."

Ninian searches wildly for Alyndara.

Passing Alyndara he smiles a wicked grin and steps through the door.

Kirill opens the door to the stable yard and heads outside.

Thrain turns and heads for the door.

"Commoners might surprise you, Diar," Celebril answers, a friendly smirk tugging at the corners of his foam-flecked lips. "As for gossip," he adds, dragging the back of a hand across his lips just like a very commoner, "This lot reminds me of a troupe I saw in Caemlyn once." Waving a hand to indicate Thrain et al, he laughs. "At least that group used a stage."

Alyndara frowns."Thrain..don't go, stay and talk, please." She moves towards him..

Alyndara looks to Ninian and gives a comforting smile..

Ninian smiles waveringly at Alyndara.

Thrain shakes his head, "The air has become rancid in here."

Thrain steps around Alyn and heads out.

Alyndara turns to follow him, motioning Ninian to as well

Thrain opens the door to the stable yard and heads outside.

Alyndara opens the door to the stable yard and heads outside.

"They have, I freely admit it," is the laughing respone the red-haired lordling gives, loose and slouching as he stands; the bottle of wine he mentioned in passing is also brought to him, with a glass. As he uncorks it he goes on, a glance over his shoulder, eyes hooded. A grimace flits over his face. "Indeed? Doesn't say very much for the troupe, or do you mean it otherwise?"

Ninian draws in a deep breath and picks up

Ninian opens the door to the stable yard and heads outside.

Celebril snorts a bit with restrained laughter, shaking his head as he repeats Thrain in a rumbling basso, "'The air seems a bit rancid in here'!" Reverting to his own voice, grinning madly, he goes on, "Light! As if that fellow's bathed in weeks. In any case, I've been meaning to find you, Moderal. I have a proposition you might find of interest."

Diar's expression now turns to interest, though he looks to conceal it with a grin, a hint of teeth showing. "A proposition, Girithlin? I generally have those from the women." Turning his eyes to measure out a fair amount of wine in his fluted glass, which he raises. "What would it be? Nothing boring, I hope. I get more than enough of that, here."

"Quite the contrary," the Lord Elendril replies drily, "It is an action against the dire armies of boredom that I am proposing." Pausing long enough for another sip of the thick, entirely-too-murky drink, Celebril wets his throat and goes on. "Rather, I've been thinking of the... fun... a single man of my talent might have in Cairhien. Aiel running about, desperate Houses and all. So, I asked myself," and now he poses the question with a wry grin, "If one can have such a bang-up time, how much fun will a pair have, eh?"

A careful, measured drink from the glass, eyes shut for a moment to savor -- and to consider. The glass lowers, and Diar tosses his head, long hair moving out of his eyes, revealing a pale birthmark on his forehead briefly. "Aiel ... There's Aiel blood in my family, it's said -- but never seen one, live... And all the politics, Daes --" He stops, face twisting at some unpleasant taste. "The Game of Houses. Perhaps. I've planned to go there, soon. Or late. Eventually."

Celebril nods curtly, taking another long sip, savoring the taste before responding. "Even so. I've little or nothing left to do in this city, Light knows; a few pretty faces here and there. The offer's there, if you want it."

"Yes, yes. Erm. You've been in Cairhien before?" Taking another sip, Diar leans on an elbow, though the turning now has him often looking at what goes on around, a cool and detached gaze which doesn't match the curved lips, the sense of consideration. "One can get rather sadly mired in their... their games. But -- then again, that's the fun of it, is it not? And soon ... well. I'll have a companion, and she needs taking out of Tar Valon for her own sake..." Another sip, more consideration.

"I'd heard about that, oddly enough," Celebril answers thoughtfully, pausing in his continuous drinking to say so. "A... friend of mine, is a friend of your... companion, if I guess her identity rightly. She seemed to think you and I were well-acquainted."

Diar lowers the glass, setting it on the bar, a finger winding around the the rim. No change in expression, just more thought... "Yes, I suspect you guess her. Maeve Ygraine di'Zhiaara-Cathal, late of the Tower, and so on. Who is this -- ahem -- friend of hers that is your ... shall we say it, 'friend?' Light knows, the girl had gotten few enough."

Celebril licks his lips, mulling this question over on the strength of his last drink of stout. The glass empty, he replies, "A lass of the Atha'an Miere, and--oddly--an intriguing girl. I've not even slept with her, and like her a good bit." He scratches his head as if that puzzles him, and then adds, "Jaice, by name."

Maeve comes into the common room from the stable yard outside.

"Ahh. She. Yes, I know her. A fine pick -- certainly that walk, eh, isn't a strain on your eyes?" A low chuckle is made in Diar's throat, though so drowned by another drink of wine from his glass (now nearly empty.) "Friendly enough, to one adopted into the Sea Folk. But, a little aloof. Perhaps I am too loud for delicate sensibilities." Sardonic flicker of eyelids, twist of the mouth, and he refills his glass at the bar.

The door opens to let a slender figure in, not exactly dressed the way one would expect for a quiet evening in the Flaming Arrow's common room. Then again, seeing its Maeve, she might not be planning a quiet evening. There's something in the tilt of her chin and a certain look in her eyes which suggests she has anything but quiet in mind as she saunters into the room, green skirts swirling about her legs. She does pause upon seeing the two of you, arching a slender brow, then inclines her head in a greeting and makes her way towards the bar herself.

Celebril emits a dry chuckle, setting his empty pint-glass down beside him upon the bar. "Indeed," the golden-haired one says, "Though I'd not noticed that so much of late as I once had. Very odd. In any case--" he seems to regain more of his impulsive nature, here, "--Cairhien awaits us, eh?"

Diar arches a fine coppery eyebrow, turning to look at his barmate as he again lifts his glass -- he has a fine taste, and prefers constant quenching. "Haven't notic-- Are you ill, man? If she were any fr--" A stop, at a flash of familiar-hued green in the corner of his eye, instinctual turning to it. And then very quickly, "Ahh, Maeve! Such a surprise. Here, join us -- Celebril Girithlin, unsure if you've met him. We're going to Cairhien with him."

"Indeed, we've met," the indicated Celebril replies with a charming smile and a gracious bow, yet mindful of Diar's claim on the woman, not too gracious. "A triad, then? This shall be most enjoyable for us all, I should think."

Ignoring Diar's greeting for a moment, Maeve waves a serving girl over, "Wine please," before with a dazzlingly self-confident smile turning back to the two of you. No curtsey of course, Light knows she'd had enough of those to last her years, but a graceful dip of her head she offers Celebril. "Yes, we've met... on a few occasions. I am sure it will make the trip even more pleasant." She seems sincere enough, yet gives Diar the odd look occasionally, with a certain gleam in her eyes.

"Not too enjoyable." A little swiftly said, a little flat; Diar sips at his wine after, and lets the words hang unqualified to rattle about in the air. Take the meaning as you will, but he raises the corners of his mouth up as he adds, "A few hundred miles of black-veiled Aiel and brigands between here and there. And I'm glad you've met. I think." Another quirk of his mouth, and surprisingly nothing of plain jealousy there, just humor as he drinks and makes room for Maeve at the bar.

Celebril draws in a deep breath, eyeing the pair curiously through sapphirine eyes of his own. Narrowing in interest, those eyes, questions pondered; finally, he laughs softly, and nods. "Indeed, indeed. So, you count Jaice din Coris Swift Sea as a friend, Maeve... in that case, I count you already as my friend."

"Nothing the three of us can't handle, wouldn't you say?" A light toss of her head to clear a stray whisp of hair from her eyes send a ripple through the auburn mane of hair, and Maeve flashes Diar a quick smile to go with it as she slides into the offered space by the bar. A casual gesture directs the barmaid over that way, with the slender glass of richly red wine, and few coppers are pushed over the counter to pay for it. "Or does it worry you overmuch, Diar?" As Celebril speaks whatever else she had on her mind is forgotten, and she turns towards him with a look of surprise on her face. "Jaice? I'ver hardly had a chance to speak with her over the last weeks, and when we did... we had other things to discuss."

Diar looks to the bar, carefully reaching across Maeve to fetch the bottle of wine he left there. Expression obscured, still little doubt remains of a grimace before he washes it away with a healthy gulp of wine. "No. Death has never worried me overmuch. One of those things that one needs to forget about fearing -- but that's myself speaking, my dear. Don't be a child." Another sip, as he looks away and goes on, voice a little more loudly pitched. "Have a preferred time of leaving, Girithlin? Some personal conquests beforehand, for luck?"

Celebril clears his throat at the last question to pass Diar's lips, and a rather pained smile touches his own face before he comments in return, "I seem to recall telling you I'd given up on that vice, at least." As another murky ale is handed his way, the golden lord accepts it and adds, "I'm ready to leave within a week, I should expect."

The door opens with a protesting creak as the slender dark-skinned Accepted wanders in, her banded skirts swirling gently around her ankles. Jaice's pale eyes take in the room as though looking for someone, her dark brows knitted intently.

Back halfways turned to Diar, Maeve seems to yet again ignore him as she takes a thoughtful sip from her wine, the glass held nimbly by slender fingers. Even so, her first words seem meant for him. "A child? Your drinking must have left your eyesight poor again." She's obviously had a glass or two before coming her, there's something even more volatile than usual about her behaviour, and as she leans a hip against the bar and twists back to look to Diar again, she seems to be offering him a nice view on purpose.

Now there's a familiar voice. Jaice's blue gaze find Maeve at the bar, and she frowns as she watches the girl a moment, seeming hesitant to approach even after all these hours of searching for the blasted woman. Finally she sets her shoulders, her fluid sea-folk rolling gait taking her to stand just behind her old friend. "Hello, Maeve," she says softly. "Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?"

Standing at the bar with Maeve and Celebril, Altaran smallcoat slung over his shoulders, Diar keeps some emotional distance from the conversation. The words Maeve tosses at him, and the motion -- don't earn a blink, he only smiles vaguely. "How nice." A long sip of his wine, and a freehand takes up the bottle of wine on the bar as he nods over the young woman's head to the fair-haired Andoran. "A week -- that'll do, well enough. Let us hope the vice, it finds a return. Constant challenge, Girithlin; that's the way to perfection of skills. All skills." And then he straightens up, rolling his shoulders back, gliding eyes -- "Ahh. Your mutual friend, friends. The fair seawind reaches even here, to bring in such a fine breath of freshness, Accepted." Light words.

Celebril's greeting for Jaice dies on his lips, seeing the way she approaches Maeve, and hearing the question. Pursing those lips together, he turns his azure gaze to Diar, raising an eyebrow archly. "Pretty words for pretty swords, Moderal," he quips with a wry grin, "But they have their own business, and friend or no I shall keep my distance from this storm until it passes."

Jaice merely arches a brow at all the poetry aimed in her direction, one star-sworled hand reaching up idly to brush several tiny braids back from her darkly tanned face. "Thank you, I think," the slender woman answers wryly. It's plain though, that most of her attention is on Maeve.

Draining half her glass in one go, Maeve seems indifferent to Diar's reaction, though his words on the other hand make her turn around, again with some suddeness. "Jaice!" A bright smile replace the sly one from before, for a moment anyhow. Then a more somber mood finds her again, and the half-empty glass is set back down. "I am truly sorry I missed you before... before leaving, I couldn't find you anywhere and that woman was in a rush to get me out as well."

[somehow part of Diar's pose was chopped here. Sorry Diar!] lightly on the bar. Pale eyes drop to the wooden surface "Wise," another simple phrase with no qualification, explication. Diar inclines his head to Jaice, the latest-come -- then to Maeve, a stillness in him which continues on to Celebril. "And before the storm flies the crow to his retreat. Light keep you." A final bow and, more or less forgotten, Diar steps away from the trio at the bar and makes his slow, measured way to the staircase.

Jaice's slender frame folds to slide onto the stool next to Maeve, her forearms resting lightly on the bar. Pale eyes drop to the wooden surface as she frowns, seemingly taking in Maeve's words. "So... it wasn't on purpose? I was so panicked something had happened to you I even called on poor Celebril here." That is said with an apologetic look in Celebril's direction.

Bronwyn looks around for a place to sit. She heads toward a table, but trips slightly over something unseen. The notebook full of sketches she carries and several charcol pencils slip from her hands. Pages scatter all over the floor and she mutters some curses rather loudly to herself.

Celebril chuckles to himself, allmost into the brim of his dark, rather-opaque ale. Shaking his head with a rueful grin at Diar's exit, this other blademaster runs slender fngers through golden hair in a subconscious gesture. At Jaice's look, he merely nods, a mute smile touching his face.

"Yes, yes... just flap away, Diar." Maeve doesn't look away from Jaice, but her dry words are clearly aimed anyhow. And once he's dismissed, her mood grows quiet and not the least amused again, in any way. "No no... nothing like that. I rode around some, then decided to collect another favour from a ... friend." She nods her head in the direction Diar headed. "I am sorry I worried you, Jaice."

Bronwyn grumbles under her breath as she stoops to pick up her drawings. She barely snatches several before they can be trampled on. She stuffs them roughly back into her notebook. She picks up her pencils, which are both broken in half.

Jaice shakes her head then, dozens of tiny, dark braids swaying with the sudden movement. "No, no. You're certainly capable of taking care of yourself, I shouldn't have worried. It's just -- it was all so sudden. I was talking with Alkala..." Her lips twist at that, giving you all an indication of what -that- was like, "... and then I heard you'd ridden out." A pause, then, "Do you know what you'll do now?"

Bronwyn takes a seat and surveys the room. She takes out a small knife and sharpens one of her broken pencils. She quietly orders a cup of tea and begins to sketch.

To all appearances now quite oblivious to the rest of the bar--the conversation of the two friends, Maeve and Jaice, included--Celebril finds himself sitting down upon a stool, contentedly sipping his ale. Not a bad place for an easily bored young man; no, not at all.

At the bar, Maeve winces faintly at Jaice's words, for more than one reason one might suspect. "It was sudden, oh yes. I barely got into my room before poor Melli was sent up to hurry me up." She cuts herself short there, tries to shrug and seem indifferent but fails rather miserably. "As for what to do no... Cairhien to begin with, Diar's... kindly allowed me to come along. After that, home maybe, unless Tha-- my father minds too much."

Jaice nods slowly, studying her close friend, and takes a deep breath. Her next words are said quite clearly, though there's indecision in Jaice's eyes. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Silence, and a compact such follows. All that Maeve can do is stare at Jaice, and then spare Celebril a hasty look as well, before she turns back to the other woman, realizing her too firm grip about the glass least she crush it somehow. "Jaice... you don't really want to leave, trust me. I'll be fine." Attempting a pale smile and a joke, both failed, she adds, "Light, one of has to stay there to keep them on their toes, right?"

Celebril doesn't say a word; only turning, he regards both Maeve and Jaice with a deep, watchful look in his sapphirine Andoran orbs. Something sternly reassuring is in him, maybe, despite the lack of communication; for good or ill, this is a friend, surely.

Jaice's dark brows furrow then, the indecision again flittering across her features before she quashes it again into expressionlessness. "I'm not sure, Maeve. I mean... I was doubtful before. We both were, I guess. Especially since the..." She casts you a sheepish smile, "... well, the 'incident'. Now... I just don't know. It's hard to imagine that place without you there. As much as I want to learn..." Her voice trails off then, her shoulders rising in a slight shrug.

"I doubted it all along. Or the... incident wouldn't have happened, I guess." Again Maeve shrughs, aimlessly, and tilts her head faintly as she studies Jaice with dark, dark eyes. "The learning... it could be worth it though. I will not stop practicing, but it wont be the same." She actually laughs then, though its an empty sound. "Light, earlier today I found myself missing the work, I just didn't know what to do with my time."

Cerulean eyes searching out Jaice's, Celebril addresses the pair of them both, though his words would seem more for the Atha'an Miere than the fiery Saldaean. "No. One way or another," he says softly, "You both have goals, reasons you have come this far. Giving up is never the answer--" and this for Maeve, perhaps, "--even when all seems dark. For then is the light of Hope brightest."

Jaice seems faintly surprised at Celebril's words, and for the first time tonight, an amused smile quirks her lips. "You're forbidding me to leave the Tower, Lord Celebril?" By the teasing tone in her own voice, it would seem the two have become friends the last few days.

"I have no such power, Jaice din Coris Swift Sea," the gilt-haired Celebril replies with an easy smile, eyes perhaps twinkling with--what, teasing?--some levity in this sad scene. "Yet I would ask you stay, if you can; if it is your truest desire, then know it, and live it... yes."

As Celebril comments, Maeve finds herself looking between the two of you, just a hint of a smile touching her lips now. "He's right, Jaice," she finally says, lifting her glass to drain it before she goes on, "I didn't have much choice left to me, except maybe crawling on my knees to... that woman." She snorts faintly, though the idea must have flickered through her mind at some point at least. "I think his advice is sound, for you it is the right thing."

Bronwyn pulls out a pouch holding some colored chalks. She studies Celebril for another moment, then begins to color in her sketch.

Jaice's dry comment to Maeve is just loud enough to reach Celebril's ears as well. "He's always telling me to 'live my dreams', whatever that means." She studies the two of you then, her lips twisting thoughtfully. "Well fine," she sighs, raking one hand through tangled braids. "I -do- want to learn more. But Maeve... it won't be the same without you to talk to. You kept me sane half the time, you know." Granted, the Atha'an Miere is past that hurdle of having to adapt to shorebound life, but...

Celebril's chuckle at Jaice's barbed assessment of his advice is amused, soft, and kept mainly to himself; the tall man turns instead back to his drink, and the bar. None of this is his business, after all.

Bronwyn hums softly to herself as she finishes the sketch. She blows off the excess dust and examins it with a bit of pride. She carefully places it between two blank sheets and places it in the back of her notebook. She finishes her tea and prepares to leave after putting away all her materials.

Maeve actually chuckles at that, toying with the glass she still holds even though no wine remains. "That was probably the first time I kept anyone sane, I am mostly accused of the opposite. Just ask Diar." Her tone grows wry with her last words, yet it isn't untroubled, far from it. "You won't be completely free once you raise, but is anyone truly that? Too tangled up in the threads of fate to be." She shakes her head slightly, "Just look at me. I spent most of my time there trying to find a reason for staying."

Jaice tilts her head as she watches Maeve, her pale eyes concerned. "Do you think you will be happier now, free of all that?"

Setting her glass down again, trailing along the rim with a slender finger, Maeve glances away from Jaice for a moment, grey eyes brushing over Celebril in passing. "Maybe. There's no guarantee... but I am back to where I was some years ago, after I'd slipped away from home."

Jaice shakes her head, one hand going to give Maeve's shoulder a light nudge to get her attention. "No, you aren't. Now you have so many more skills. So much more going for you. You were mostly done your Accepted training when this happened."

"And I am not supposed to make use of them either. Stay quiet, be discreet... do nothing to attract attention." Turning back to Jaice Maeve smiles, somewhat lopsidedly. "I've never been very good at not attracting attention. I rather like it, you know. I'll manage though." Touching the scarf about her neck to adjust it she adds, "I can dance, and drink again after all. That should keep me busy for a while."

Speaking of drinking, Maeve is not the only one present who can do so. Celebril not only can, but quite gladly does. Having finished his second during the ladies' conversation, he is now well into his third.

By the dark look in Jaice's eyes, that's not quite what she was wanting to hear from her friend. She looks in Celebril's direction for a helping hand, but sighs as it seems as though he'll be no assistance for a while, and, raking her fingers through her hair, she frowns at the red-haired Saldeaen. "Maeve... they can't expect you to go on as though you can't channel. That's rediculous. They have no hold on you."

To Jaice's words Maeve finds no immediate reply, and a dark frown creeps in over her face, her eyes somberly grey. Celebril's comment for some reason fails to lighten her mood as well, rather it deepens the frown, though she tries for a shrugh again. Even so, lies never came easily to her at moments like these. "Jaice, you heard what they said in the courtyard. How easily do you not think it would be for them to cry Traitor's Court for a _former_ Accepted?" As soon as she's said it, she seems to regret it, trying to wave it away with an awkward gesture. "I worry too much."

Jaice lets out short sniff, her eyes darkening with each passing moment. "They might, Maeve, if you went and blew up a town with it. But you've more of a head on your shoulders than they ever gave you credit for. I think that's what annoyed them so much."

Jaice nods to herself, firmly solidifying her statement. "But... maybe when I -do- get out of here, I can come see you? We'll have to keep in touch. Do you know where you're staying in Cairhien?"

Trying to salvage what can be salvaged, Maeve smiles wryly at that. "I will try to refrain from the temptation. I'll probably get around fine." Glancing down at her dress for a moment, she adds with even a touch of relief in her voice. "Light knows I am glad to have seen the last of those whites at least. I wish I could have stayed and showed them a thing or two, but.. The Wheel weaves, and all that." Her gaze strays to the stairs up for a moment, then returns to Jaice. "I have few others I count as friends, of course you can come and see me. They will frown upon it of course, but it never bothered us. We'll find us some inn in Cairhien to begin with, likely in Diar's name. Look for the fanciest one, his tastes run that way in general."

Celebril, despite the fact that he is watching his ale--not the woman--and facing a completely opposite direction, shifts a bit in his seat at Maeve's words. Perhaps he is listening, after all, despite appearances.

Jaice nods slowly, lips pressing together. She doesn't like this. But then... not much has happened to her in her life that she has. "Maybe once I get my project perfected... I might be able to send word every now and then. When it's not changing the natural weather too much." Light, but she'll miss her.

"Just try to not send too much rain with it. Green silk just doesn't turn out the way white linen does when wet." Maeve tries to smile again, though this time all she manages is a faint tugging at the corners of her mouth, barely worth the name. "I will be here another week, Diar had a few more things to see to." Never truly good at hiding her emotions, she's obviously saddend too, biting her lips at one point. "You'll be ready soon I think." With that she slides down from her stool, glancing between the two of you. "I should retire, I had more wine than I'd planned on." She looks at the stairs again, suddenly sighing.

Celebril carefully keeps his emotional distance from the pair, obviously not keen on intruding upon a heartfelt goodbye between friends.

Jaice, never having been one to try to fake her emotions, doesn't bother putting on a cheery face for Maeve; her expression is stern, brows furrowed as if that might make the parting easier. "Perhaps I'll see you then, before you go," she says. Then, glancing at the door, she nods. "And... I'll be missed, if I do not get back to the Tower soon." Awful words, those.

"If not... I'll miss your company Jaice, Diar doesn't bear up with my complaints half as well even." Maeve reaches out for a moment to touch the other woman's arm, then lets her hand fall to her side. "Don't let them get to you, you've got more sense than me. And.. the Light be with you." She starts to back off, a bit slowly, nodding in passing to Celebril and sparing him a thoughtful look. "Goodnight."

One hand, patterned with sea-birds and stylized waves, raises almost belatedly as Maeve heads toward the stairs, and Jaice slides off her chair to watch her old friend head off. "Good... good night, Maeve."

Jaice's pale eyes remain on Maeve's figure as the firey -- now rather subdued -- Saldaean retreats up the stairs, and when she's finally out of sight, Jaice frowns, presses her lips tight together, and sits back on the stool beside you. She is quiet for a long time, staring at the golden ring she has slipped off the third finger of her left hand.

Celebril, it seems, has not really been drinking that third ale--it's gone down no more than an inch from when you last saw it clearly. Turning his head to glance in your direction, he whispers, "I'm sorry, Jaice." All he says--three words. In his position, at this moment, is there truly anything else he has a right to utter?

Jaice shakes her head, not looking at you, her face an expressionless mask. There's something about her eyes though... suspiciously overbright, though no tears marr those darkly tanned cheeks. "The Wheel weaves...," she begins, then pauses. Then, oddly, she leans enough to rest her head lightly on your shoulder for only the briefest of moments. "Thank you," she murmurs.

Celebril touches your hand, covering it as your head rests briefly on his shoulder, though this lesser contact he doesn't remove. "If you want to talk," he begins, then shakes his head with a sad, rueful smile. "If you need someone, Jaice, I'm here. We should get you away from this common room, though."

Jaice lets out a light sigh -- just about the extent of an outward show of emotion anyone might get from the young Atha'an Miere -- and gives your hand a squeeze before sliding from the stool. "I could use some fresh air anyway," she says haltingly.

Celebril blinks, slipping from his stool as well as he stands. Looking at your hand in his before releasing it, he notes the patterns and tracings anew; glancing from blue eyes to blue eyes, he asks, "Would you like to visit the Harbours? It should be peaceful there, at night."

Jaice nods silently, already heading for the door. Slender fingers slide her ring back onto the third finger of her left hand, the golden serpent catching the light as she does so. The door opens with a protesting creak as she opens it, but then she is out and into the street.

It is a brisk walk through the late spring night that finds the pair of you at the docks of Southharbour, the gentle lapping of water against the pilings echoing from the planks beneath your feet. In the glimmer of lamps reflected on the water, Celebril wanders with you unto the end of the pier, only stopping at the last. "I come here often," he almost whispers, "Watching for word from home. I hadn't realised until... just before, that you might feel better here."

Celebril adds, "I hope I assumed correctly."

Jaice's faint smile is a wistful one as she stares out into the Harbour, silent as she takes deep lungfuls of air laced with the tangy scents of water. "Very much so," she murmurs, then gestures toward a tiny skiff at the end of the docks. "I spent every day here, as a Novice. It was the only place I could channel."

Celebril tilts his head, so that he might see better that which you point toward; a small smile paints his face as he notes the boat. "No matter how far we travel, Jaice," he says, thoughtful it seems, "The things that shaped us from our youth shall always be with us. As memory, mayhap--but I think they are better left that way. They remain happier... that way."

Jaice tilts her own head to look at you, her eyes narrowing, a faintly amused smile on her lips as your words distract her from the reason she's on this walk in the first place. "Do you always speak in rhymes, Cel? You speak often of longing for the past, or living for the future. Almost as though... yours was taken away."

"Maybe it was," he answers, a soft chuckle belying the sudden distance implied with those three simple words. Always in threes, these profundities of Celebril's. Swinging his head to return your gaze, he smiles helplessly as a shock of golden hair swings with him right into an eye; for once, he leaves it be. "I had a different future, once, than what I live now. That doesn't mean it was any better, though. I doubt that."

Jaice meanders to the edge of the dock, crouching in one fluid motion to sit at its edge with her feet dangling over the side. "My life is not how I ever imagined it to be," she says almost diffidently, "Though I can see some good in it." Her blue eyes find yours again as she twists around to catch sight of you, and her next question is a genuine, curious one. "What was yours to be?"

Celebril wanders over to crouch down beside and behind you, on your left; knees bent fully, he squats near where you sit. "Well," he answers with a faintly-amused, embarassed smile, "I wanted to be Captain-General of all Andor. I wanted to love the Queen, and lead her Guards to victory after victory. Ha." Apparently, he truly does find this all funny now, for he laughs softly.

Jaice doesn't seem to find it so hilarious; for she is watching you with quiet eyes that tell of the seriousness in which she listens to you. "That seems a good dream, to me."

"It was, then," Celebril says, placing his right hand on your left shoulder. No more, no less; he just feels a need to have some anchor to you. A soft sigh precludes the words, "It ended in a terrible incident. Jealousy... my cousin ruined me. It's over now, all that, but... so is the old dream. I just need a new one."

"I was to be a Shipmistress, or perhaps a Windfinder... but now, I do not know. What is it you would like to do?" Jaice doesn't seem to mind your hand on her shoulder; her gaze is down, studying the tattoos on her hands.

Celebril's hand tightens just a bit on your shoulder, then relaxes--at some inner anxiety, perhaps? Outwardly, he sighs, a wistful smile taking form under his eyes. "I do not know," he says quietly, "But if we two follow similar roads, I would not be sad."

Jaice's wry smile helps to lighten the mood, but not as much as her words do. "Planning on moving into the Tower, are you?"

Celebril's laugh becomes more genuine, less wistful at that comment. Grinning suddenly in a rather.. conspiratory.. fashion, he says, "Not at all. I'm planning on seeing you through, and seeing you out."

Jaice's laughter joins yours then, though her eyes retain a hint of surprise. "Oh really! I suppose no one ever told you exactly how -long- it takes to complete Accepted training then?"

Celebril's grin becomes rather craftier, now, even moreso than mere moments ago. "And you truly think," he begins to ask you, "That you're bound by the same strictures that held those weak... shorebound girls..." he laughs, being 'shorebound' himself, "...in place? You can do whatever you want if you put your mind to it, Jaice."

"Five years, minimum," Jaice continues on, blithely pretending not to have heard you, "Or... hrm... twenty years perhaps, for the truely slow ones. Many people do not make it at all." Her blue eyes rest on yours, her tone still a joking one as she adds, "Now that's quite a commitment."

Celebril sits his legs around to the left and slides down next to you, going so far as to *gasp* place his right arm around your shoulders. "Jaice," he says, still good-humoured but more serious now, "I said I'd do it."

Jaice, beginning to suspect there's more to your words than good-natured jostling, begins to regard you more seriously. "You really want to stick around Tar Valon 'till I'm done my training?" She regards you levelly, those blue eyes sharp and intelligent. "You are certainly dedicated to those you call friend."

Celebril's arm comes back to him so that he can gesture with both hands--a common habit with this Andorman--and emphasize his point. "Jaice, it's the way I was raised. I--I have my reasons, believe me, to be a loyal friend."

"Of course," Jaice adds with a barely-surpressed grin, "I don't know how you plan to help me, unless you intend to be the victim for my Power experiments." She winks then, conveying the joke, before sobering again. "But I thank you. Your friendship is indeed important to me. You are one of... two among my life here that I would truely call 'friend'. But being so, I would not tie you like that. I will learn and succeed at the Tower, no matter what."

Celebril nods solemnly, returning your level, serious look despite his smile--which is, after all, a serious smile as well. "You'll be safe here, I know," he says quietly. "I do have to travel with Diar, to Cairhien--but I will come back for you. Never doubt that--and of course, you can always call me." Now, he winks, and grins like an impish boy.

"Only if you promise to have a towel handy," Jaice says solemnly, evidently recalling what happened the last time. "I will be happy to see you when you get back... but I do not want you to feel tied to this promise you've made." She bends a little, to peer up into your eyes as though trying to assess your level of lucidity. "After all, you have been drinking."

Celebril leans down just a little, but far enough to brush your nose with his as his grin widens broadly. "Drinking? Two and a half pints of stout? We may be friends, Jaice, but you've a lot to learn if you think *that* can stagger Celebril Girithlin..."

"What can a woman expect, when a man such as yourself starts blathering odd promises about dedicating himself to the training of a woman he's only known a little over a week?" Jaice chuckles dryly, giving you a light nudge as she gets to her feet. "But speaking of Training, I will have to sneak back into the Tower as it is. Shall we head back?"

---
The two do head back to the Tower gates under the comforting cloak of the night sky, and their conversation is light and of little consequence. It seems Jaice may have even forgotten Celebril's promise to see her through her training -- whatever that means -- for she doesn't mention it again, and only briefly talks of her adventures with Maeve on the short walk back. But Jaice is adept at hiding her thoughts, so it's more likely she hasn't forgotten at all; but the young Atha'an Miere will probably be biding her time, and will be more watchful of this new Andoran friend of hers in the future.