Festival of Roses

The family had been nicely settled in their pavilion. Everything had been seen to. Marten decided to take a bit of a walk. After all, it was good to stretch his legs every once and a while.

Before he knew it, Marten found his way to the tournament grounds. His lips curled up, just a little. Of course he had. This was where he belonged, or at least it was, once. Not for a while.

He walked out into the fields, gazing up into the stands. He could almost imagine it now...

Alicent had also gone out to observe the grounds. It had become a habit of hers since the earlier tournaments she had attended with her brother. Seeing the set up was almost nostalgic, in a way. "Oh..." She curtsied when she saw another person present, the sun lighting up silver-blonde locks even paler. "Good morning, milord. Am I interrupting?"

Lost in his reminiscences, Marten didn't notice the pretty young woman until she spoke. It was almost with a visible effort that he brought himself back to the present.

Marten gave her a kindly smile, the laugh-lines around his eyes standing out. "Not at all." He said, his voice deep. "I was just... remembering, I suppose." He gave her a slightly stiff bow. "Marten Tremaine, of House Tremaine. It's an honor to meet you, milady."

She smiled in return, the obvious kindness in his manner bringing it out. "Mm... I was just thinking it's a bit nostalgic... But maybe sixteen is a little early for feeling like that?" She chuckled softly. "Alicent Feyther of House Feyther, of the Westerlands. It's an honor to meet you, as well, milord."

"Oh?" Marten nodded. "You've come a goodly way, then."

He laughed softly, the lines by his eyes deepening. "And from where I stand, sixteen's certainly a bit early to feel like that. I was just thinking back to, oh, a year or two before you were born." He chuckled again, shaking his head.

"May I ask what makes you nostalgic at the age of sixteen?" He asked, gently teasing.

"From the Ocean Road," she replied with a smile, pale skin turning a little pink at the teasing. "I went with my older brother Caim to a few tourneys for a few years starting about ten years ago. It's nice to go to one and see an event field again."

"Oh, really?" Marten said, giving her an interested smile. "Well, that sounds lovely. And good enough reason to be nostalgic, too, I'd say."

He took a deep breath, taking in the air. "It is nice, isn't it? That's exactly what I was out here doing, in fact. Although it's been a long time since I've been out on one." He chuckled. "They haven't changed them lately, have they?" He joked.

"Well, they've replaced the horses with very tall birds... Nothing too big," she joked back, coming up with the most ridiculous thing she could imagine. "But yes... The tournament grounds were always the same no matter how big or small or hot or cold a place we went... I suppose it's a bit comforting."

"Oh, aye?" Marten chuckled warmly. "Well, I'm glad I asked, then. I would have been awfully surprised, otherwise." He gave her a smile.

Turning, he looked over at the wooden stands. "You're right. There is something comforting about that, isn't there?" He gave her a curious look. "Something that's always the same, no matter what else happens."

After a few moments, he smiled. "So, are you here with your brother, then? He's a contender, I take it?"

"Well, you know how trends among the nobility can be," she replied with a grin, giving an exaggerated shrug, then chuckling. "I always thought so. The world can be pretty crazy sometimes... It's nice to have a few consistencies. Anyway... Yes. Caim Feyther. You'll likely see him around... dark-haired, blue-eyed, dour."