For an improptu garden party, it is rather small. Rather, it is just Lark with tea in a garden. The High Lady of the Crownlands is sitting on the swing that has been chained to a large tree, her slippers on the ground next to her and a cup of tea balanced on her knee. For once, she has no paperwork, no other work. Maybe that it the part that makes this a party. Her dogs have trapped a squirrel in another tree, each staked out at the bottom with quivering anticipation.

Thesarin is making his way into the garden at his usual measured gait, hands at his side, sword at his hip. He's starting to dress more heavily, in the last gasps of summer, with barely a hint of ink showing on his skin. As he approaches Lark, he clasps his fist to his chest and offers her a low nod. "Your Grace."

"My lord," Lark greets with a simple inclination of her chin, gesturing to the chair near her before she adds in offer: "There is tea, if you'd like some, or I can have a servant bring something stronger, if you prefer."

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Lark before departing.

"Wouldn't say no to a dram, Your Grace." Thesarin's gives a second nod, and reaches out to one of the orchids a moment, angling it for a better look, and then looking back toward the Crown Princess. "How's the evening find you?"

Esoka arrives along with Thesarin. Her own ink is not blatantly on display, but spots of it are visible on her wrists and neckline, and she makes no real effort to conceal it. A deep bow is offered to Lark. A touch stiff. Manners so practiced they've become over-practiced. But it's given with all respect. "Your grace. Your garden is most beautiful tonight."

Inquisitor Jonathen, 4 Veteran Confessors arrive, following Laric.

Inquisitor Jonathen, 4 Veteran Confessors leave, following Laric.

Lark lifts only a finger to a servant who sees to Thesarin's request without hesitating, leaving the woman free to drag her dark gaze back to the Count and study him and the orchid both. "Oddly, done with all of my business in an evening early, unless something happens unexpectedly. But then, that is what I have Voices for, isn't it?" Her mirrored, large eyes then sweep to Esoka, nodding greeting to the woman, as she tells her: "I will inform the head gardener. He takes a lot of pride in it. And in those famed orchids."

"Heard stories of them." Thesarin nods to Lark, and his lip twirches. Not a smile, but something of the general nature. "And you have some fine Voices speaking for you. Tikva always did for us." He indicates Esoka with one hand, not moving his flat, steady gaze from Lark as he does. "Have you met my Sword, or should I make introductions?"

"I have heard a little of the elfblight orchids, your grace," Esoka says. Breathing deep, to fully take the scent of them into her lungs. "It's said they have remarkable properties. Though I'm not a gardener, so I'll just enjoy them." To Thesarin, she says, "I've met Princess Lark a time or two, Count, when I accompanied Countess Mia to some of the Grayson meetings."

"You and me both, Dame Esoka. I have the opposite of a green thumb. A black thumb, I suppose," Lark muses thoughtfully, shaking her head after a moment in light dismissal of the thought. She lifts her fingers to wave gently to the tea for Esoka, inviting her. "I have been quite lucky in cousins-in-law, my lord. My cousins have all made fine and happy marriages to people who have brought so much into Grayson by their very presence."

Lark is overheard praising Tikva for: For more patience and kindness than I could ask for.

Lark is overheard praising Ainsley for: For his patience and his presence.

Lark is overheard praising Tikva for: For more patience and kindness than I could ask for.

Lark is overheard praising Ainsley for: For his patience and his presence.

Lark is overheard praising Tikva for: For more patience and kindness than I could ask for.

Lark is overheard praising Ainsley for: For his patience and his presence.

Lark is overheard praising Thesarin for: because he's standing right here.

Lark is overheard praising Esoka for: because she's standing right here.

"Spoke to Prince Ainsley, once or twice. And briefly." Thesarin moves his broad shoulders up and down, slowly. "And meaning no offense, if he seemed less decent, or less in love with her, we'd never have approved the match. Even to a Prince of Grayson. Be good to her." That smile-ish thing touches his lips again, and he shakes his head a little. "Glad I've a few years yet before I need to think on making matches for my own."

Esoka makes a soft snorting sound that /almost/ sounds like a chuckle, at Thesarin's words about Ainsley. She covers it with a clearing of her throat, though, and a sip of her tea. "You'll not find a more able Voice than Princess Tikva, your grace. I'm glad Prince Ainsley has returned from Bastion. I know she missed him during his time away from the city." She has no comment on the subject of marriage pacts and the like.

Lark nods lightly in simple agreement, even as she murmurs: "A name is just a name, my lord. I expect my cousins to rise and fall based on their own merits, in anything that they pursue." She almost-smiles at Esoka, tipping her chin again in agreement as she adds, "I expect that she would be glad to see him, even if he hadn't returned and immediately showered her with gifts, like an alaricite bow." She lifts her tea to sip, her gaze sliding towards the mansion briefly before returning to Thesarin. "Let us hope that your own children are as lucky as their parents in the matter."

Thesarin takes the beer from a servant with a low noise in the back of his throat, and takes an appreciative sip. He does not, in this case, wipe his mouth with his sleeve, as he would at home; instead, he moves to take a seat, keeping across from Lark without breaking his gaze a moment. "Let's hope making their matches has less... drama to it." He settles in, and has another pull of his beer. "On the topic of the Prince. Would you have a notion on why he's a feud with Lady Brianna Halfshav?"

"She showed me the bow." Mention of it makes Esoka's eyes a touch wide. "It's a beautiful weapon. And she'll wield it with skill and resolve against the Abyss, which is the important part." Her manner isn't one that easily does prim and proper, but she is on her best behavior here. She tries not to slouch, sips her tea, and avoids adding anything more spirited to it. A blink of confusion, at mention of Brianna. She plainly doens't know.

Esoka seems to be on par with the Crown Princess, as Lark's usually unreadable features only reflect a question, her brows curving upwards. "I wasn't aware," she admits. "What have you heard mentioned of it?"

"Nothing much." Thesarin lookes between the two women, and his shoulders slowly rise and fall again. "She came by the Marquis Sana's party. He stood to leave when he saw her. Seemed tense." A second slow shrug, and another mouthfull of beer. "Might be nothing. Just don't get on. Not my business."

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Lark before departing.

Olenna, Pellinor arrive, following Alarissa.

Esoka shrugs. "I know little of Lady Brianna, save that I've sparred with her a few times at the training center and she seems handy with a blade and a merry opponent. I have trouble imagining Prince Ainsley getting on poorly with anyone. Though there are many ins and outs of highborn relations that are beyond me, frankly." More sipping. "This tea is very good, your grace." She sits near Thesarin, drinking tea and chatting with the Count and Lark.

Her sister is having tea and the formal littel invitation sent has drawn the very pregnant Alarissa from the depths of the Thrax ward to descend upon her old home with a smile, a coronet in once again golden curls and stopping along the way to trail fingers across the elfsbane.

"I have always felt that Lady Brianna is a woman that you either love or hate. I do not know what my cousin's opinions are of her," replies Lark simply, tipping her chin. She doesn't rise as Alarissa steps into the gardens, but her dark gaze does. She nods politely in greeting, calling out, "Princess-Consort Alarissa, please. Join us. Dame Esoka recommends the tea."

Thesarin stans respectfully as Alarissa starts to make her way over, leaving his beer resting on the ground beside him. He offers a short, respectful bow to the Princess of Thrax on her approach.

Lark is overheard praising Alarissa for: Beautiful, even nearly giving birth this very moment.

Esoka sets her tea cup down to rise and offer Alarissa a deep bow. "Princess Alarissa. Indeed. The tea is very fine.. She'll wait until the Princess-Consort of Thrax has settled before seating herself again.

"So teh Lady Brianna is an acquired taste then? I know of a few who are like that. Your Grace, dear sister." Alarissa greets Lark, with a deep inclination of her head given that Alarissa's only married one but lark actually IS a High Lord. Then Esoka and Thesarin smaller dips of her head. To a place to sit she's going, looking to the tea. "I think that's all I drink. Though now and then his Grace slips a little rum in. Something about it's what all strong growing Thrax babies need." A faint rolls of her eyes. "I have met the Dame Esoka but I confess to not knowing your other guest."

"Count Thesarin Riven, husband of Countess Mia Riven," introduces Lark smoothly between the two. "He and his wife are very keen observers, I have found, of the situations rising in Arx." She gestures to a servant to see to Alarissa's tea even as she gestures to the bench near her swing. Yes, she's sitting on a swing without slippers. No one tell anyone. "I think that a little rum is what a mother growing a human inside her needs, every now and then."

Thesarin lowers his head in a second bow, and returns to standing as tall and straight as a tattooed fencepost. "Good to make introductions. Of course I know the Crown Princess by reputation." The Prodigal's face twitches, a moment, relaxing from the resting scowl just an instant. "Do the Mercies have a guess on a boy or girl?"

Alarissa checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 4 higher.

Esoka laughs. An earthy chuckle of a sound. "I have tried Thrax rum a time or two. My head later regretted it. I'm sure it makes very hearty children. It is well to see you again, Princess Alarissa." She picks up her tea again, eyes flitting to Thesarin for a beat as she takes another sip of it.

"House Riven ahhh." Nary a twitch at all but she lingers her gaze a few moments more before taking up some tea and looking to the bump that marls the pillared line of thin velvet. "The mercies do not tend to me but in fact a disciple of the Queen and Mother and a Harlequin will or should be accompanying me to Maelstrom in two weeks time. As to boy or girl. Healthy is what we guess, and we will take either. it will be a force to be reckoned iwth regardless, but enough about the life inside me, please. What have I missed about the Lady Brianna?"

"Only that we did not know if there were something between her and Prince Ainsley," answers Lark simply, shaking her head in a soft gesture. "Though I would not want to muse overly long on what was only a light question on the Count's part of something none of us know." She takes a slow sip of her tea, glancing to Thesarin with a incline of her chin. "The theft of Southport's vault is much more interesting, I'd say."

white-tailed eagle, other white-tailed eagle arrive, following Mia.

"Very strange." Thesarin is standing beside Esoka, speaking to Lark and Alarissa, giving a nod. "If what's said is true..." He works his jaw a moment, and rises and lowers his broad shoulders slowly. "Seems very strange it was so ill-guarded. If what's said is true."

Esoka is sitting not far from Thesarin, sipping tea and being sociable with Lark and Alarissa. She's on her best behavior. Posture straight, elbows off the table. She's even trying not to slurp. It's not her natural environment, but she's mostly passing for house-broken. A slim frown comes to her face, at mention of the vault of Southport affair. "I know General Calypso a little. I was with the Grayson armies when she commanded them, and the Lycenes, during the Battle of Arx against Tolamar Brand's forces. I find it hard to believe she left /anything/ of hers ill-guarded. Not that I've any great knowledge of how Southport operates but, like the Count says, it is most odd."

Mia arrived to the Grayson gardens as she arrived most everywhere -- at a brisk, purposeful pace that kicked up the hems of her skirts in such a way as to suggest that they were trying to move out of her path. (Really, it's entirely possible that Mia came into the world like that. Her poor mother.) A few twists and turns about the flowers and hedges and she managed to find her way to the gathering. There were voices to follow, after all, and frankly, her husband and her Sword were both rather difficult to miss, especially when summer weather had them sporting the sort of attire more likely to show off their heavily marked skin. "My ladies," a quick curtsy. "My lord."

Alarissa checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 4 higher.

"Last I saw there were Princesses present." Alarissa quietly offers up to Mia. But she barely glances at the woman. "I cannot fathom that such a thing was a matter of poor planning and the like. No. And then thirteen coins. Not in the least. Someone intends ot make her look the fool when all know she is not. That woman can dress another blidfolded and still make them look lovely. Dearest Grace, I apologize, the heir batters me mercilessly and I wish that I could stay longer. I should return to the Thrax ward."

"Do not take offense at a social slip, my sister; your position is in no jeopardy," murmurs Lark in answer, a brief smile touching the corners of her lips as she offers it to Alarissa. She nods, accepting Alarissa's farewell but adds: "I hope we will have time to see each other again, before you leave for the Mourning Isles. I will send word, I promise." Only then does her large, dark gaze slide to Mia in greeting. "Countess Riven, good evening."

"Goot to have met you, all the same, Princess Thrax. Mother of Waves watch over your passage and your charge." The last sentence is recited, like a man reading it off a placard. Thesarin gives another bow, and then turns toward his wife, giving her a nod as she makes her way closer. "Mia. Come, join us."

Both of Mia's black brows shot up. "So there are. As is Dame Esoka, who -- as a sworn vassal and loyal retainer -- I wished to include in my greeting. So as not to be rude, Your Highness." Inclining her head, she added with her eyes drifting briefly over to Lark, "Forgive me for that."

Lady Teldra, a Lycene noblewoman, Steadfast, a guardian dog, Buchanan, a Champion arrive, following Cara.

There's an arch of Esoka's thick eyebrows at the exchange between Alarissa and Mia, and a slight stiffening of her posture, but it's all blink-and-you-miss-it tension. She stands, giving Mia a little bow of her shoulders. "Countess. A good eve." She buries herself in her tea again, after that. Sip, sip, sip. "It was well to see you again, Princess Alarissa. I wish you and your babe good health."

Alarissa checked willpower at difficulty 15, rolling 1 higher.

"Or maybe you will have to board a Grayson ship and come see your neice or nephew in person your Grace and visit the embassy." Alarissa points out to her sister with a blossoming smile. "But it's wedged it's toes, none the less and so I will bid you farewell, all. Dame Esoka. Count Riven." And with that, there's the graceful sway of the soon to burst Princess-Consort making her way out.

Lark is overheard praising Cara for: For bringing a child into the world!

Cara Grayson travels with a pack. It's a necessary thing when one is wrangling two toddlers -- identical girls toddling awkwardly ahead of their mother, each with a hand on the flank of a very patient black dog. Stealthy nannies hover within range just in case. The lady carries another bundle wrapped in a lacy blanket against any hint of a chill, but the newest addition to the family seems to be pleasingly asleep. At the sight of the event, she tuts softly and Steadfast looks back before gently steering the twins over toward Lark. What a good dog. "High Lady, good day." One of the twins pipes up, "La-la-lay," -- which is assuredly a very polite baby greeting for her liege lady.

Inquisitor Jonathen, 4 Veteran Confessors arrive, following Laric.

4 Veteran Confessors have been dismissed.

Lark nods softly to Alarissa's counter, accepting it with a flicker of amusement, but then her attention is stolen completely away by the arrival of Princess Cara Grayson and the two smaller princesses, and the wrapped bundle of new prince. "Princess Kieri," she intones gravely to the first, before tipping her chin to the second and adding, "Princess Petra." She snags a cookie from a tray, breaking it in half to offer both to the girls, even as she tells Cara quietly, "If you think that it is not your duty to allow me to hold my new cousin, you would be wrong, Princess Cara."

"Princess." Thesarin gives a bow to Cara as she makes her way over, and for a moment his face breaks into a genuine smile at the sight of the little princesses. "Well good evening, Your Highnesses," rumbles the 6'2" shav'arvani warlord dressed up like a Count of Grayson.

Olenna, Pellinor leave, following Alarissa.

Petra sort of wobbles as she clutches the dog, but it might be mistaken for an attempt at a curtsey. One that's swiftly abandoned at the appearance of the cookie, to which both girls immediately chime something that sounds like 'thank you' if pronounced by someone with very few teeth. Cara laughs at Lark's pronouncement before saying mildly, "I would not dream of it, Your Grace. I'm pleased to present Arber Grayson, who is -- so far -- a sleepy and good-tempered baby." She transfers the baby over without any fuss. Here, have a kid.

Esoka stands again, to do more bowing. She's not exactly graceful about it, but she's got the science of the manners down by now. "Princess Cara." She /beams/ at the sight of the twins. "Oh, your babies! They are so big now!" She adds, "Except for the new baby, of course. He's very small. My congratulations to you and Prince Laric."

Mia says in Crownlands shav, "Gods above, how I loathe that woman."

There was a moment where Mia stood still, a faint smile plastered across her face. It was neither warm nor welcoming, but simply polite. And then the tension melted out of her and she murmured something under her breath. A swift, passing thing that soon gave way to genuine smile at the arrival of Cara and of her brood. After all, Mia was obscenely fond of babies. Especially other people's babies, whom she could coo and fuss over without actually having to raise. She dipped into a quick, perfunctory curtsy. "Your Highness. It's been some time since I saw you last -- far longer than I would like. It seems you've been busy with worthwhile work, though?"

Lark's ink-dark gaze falls to the baby that she takes, and by takes, we mean that she mostly stays very, very still and allows Cara to place Arber in her arms properly. She shifts after, though, to free a hand to lift and pull down the blanket slightly as she stares at the newborn baby's face. She doesn't forget everyone around her, however, as she studies him. She is quiet when she asks: "So, does this mean you shall be available to answer all of my messengers tomorrow?"

Olenna arrives, delivering a message to Lark before departing.

Laric doesn't look like he should be out of bed. No, he's not on fire or covered in bandages. He definitely didn't just give birth (looking at you, Cara). It's just exceptionally clear he hasn't had his morning coffee yet. He narrows his bleary eyes against the sunny summer glare as he steps out of the mansion, a couple of minutes behind Cara and their growing brood. They narrow further at the sight of the crowd. Devestated onlookers? Something amiss? Alarissa fleeing the scene of the crime?

Oh, no, it's just a tea party.

Relaxing, he continues off the porch and into the gardens proper. "Careful if he wakes up, Lark. He has Cara's vise-grip," he calls as he makes his way over, putting on a faint but genuine smile. "Good morning, Countess, Count. Dame," he adds, attention straying to the larger children. Nobody choking on cookie? Good. Carry on.

"Every time I turn around, they've grown another inch and started moving faster," Cara smiles crookedly to Esoka, "It's good to see you, Dame Esoka. I hope you're well?" She bows her head companionably to Mia in greeting, too, "Countess, a pleasure." She glances at Arber and says wryly, "This one was -- trying. He's beautiful, but the making of him wore me down to the bone." Cara does look thinner and more pale than she likely ought, having just come from summer, but happiness is a powerful cosmetic. At Lark's words, she glances at her liege lady and says mildly, "I serve at Your Grace's pleasure, of course, but you may wish to send messengers who won't be bothered by a bared breast or a bit of poo."

"I hope you're in good health," Thesarin rumbles toward Cara, before returning to his seat and the beer he'd left sitting. He shoos off a few flies and has another short pull. "Don't think we've spoke since the... excitement in the library."

"Oh, I'm quite well. _I_ did not set myself on fire," Cara says to Thesarin cheerily.

"Best to wait, then," Lark replies simply, her dark gaze lifted to Cara for a moment. Then she is glancing down, frowning, as she starts to hold Arber out towards his father. The reason becomes clear at the sight of spreading liquid over her dove grey gown and the prince's blanket. "If you would please take him, now. Please." There is only the slightest edge of plea to the High Lady's words, otherwise composed as it becomes clear she has been peed on and smells of it, too.

Laric is overheard praising Lark for: Not dropping Prince Arber Grayson after his very first and very big social snafu. Thank you!

"Prince Laric." He's also bowed to, before Esoka takes her seat again. With a soft huff as she relaxes. "I was just remarking to Princess Cara, your girl-children have gotten so big. They are dear things. And you must be very proud of the new one..." As he pees on the high lady of Grayson. She winces. Maybe they aren't proud of him at this /exact/ moment.

Both of Mia's brows shot up at the sentiments being passed around. "Am I going to be roused from my bed to bandage another Prince?," she asked, her voice a bit dry. "While I certainly have no objection to tending to any of the Graysons, I'd much rather my assistance not be needed at all." And here, the Countess shot a particular look at Laric. It was a look mastered by librarians and by mothers alike. She happened to be the latter, several times over, and was well-practiced in intimidating others into good behavior and easy confessions with that stare. Perhaps the Inquisition is hiring?

Lark is overheard praising Laric for: Congratulations on your son!

Lark is overheard praising Cara for: Congratulations on your son!

"That is a gross misrepresentation of what happened," Laric murmurs after Cara dryly, glancing sidelong at her then Mia. He goes to say MORE WORDS, maybe even CROSS WORDS, but no, he picks up on the travesty that just occurred. "Ah, Gods, boy, that's not how we say hello. Pass him here--" he says, stepping over and reaching down to take the rude little baby. So rude.

"You know, I think he looks a bit smug about that," Cara remarks, peering down at Arber. Lucky for Laric, the littlest prince has a nanny on standby for just this sort of emergency, though the poor man looks absolutely apoplectic that his charge just peed on the High Lady. Cara, though, is considerably more sanguine, "Fortunately, Your Grace, it does not stain. My apologies -- they do not have much in the way of control at this age."

Thesarin has a bit of a cough. It's not entirely clear whether it's Princess Cara's comment to her husband, or the sight of the newest Prince of Grayson leaking all over the Crown Princess' personage, that's brought on this fit, but whatever it is, he soothes his throat with another solid pull of his beer.

It was the request for the baby that drew Mia's attention. And when she spotted the spreading stain on Lark's gown, a flicker of diplomatic panic flashed across her face. Should she ignore it and pretend that the Crown Princess was not, in fact, currently covered in pee? Should she offer her assistance? She most definitely should not laugh, that much was clear. "If you would, Your Grace, like some assistance....," she finally managed, her voice surprisingly tentative. For once.

"Nor do I think that you do, your highness," Lark replies lightly, lifting her fingers to wave away the apology before only nodding reassurance to Cara. She rises, slipping back into her slippers as she offers the others: "If you will excuse me, I need to change. It was a pleasure to see you again, Count and Countess Riven. Dame Esoka." Her gaze sweeps over them, shaking her head at Mia softly. "Thank you for the offer, my lady. I think I can handle getting literally peed on for once, instead of figuratively." And with all the gravitas of a High Lady without pee on her, she moves to sweep out of the gardens.

Thesarin stands as Lark begins to make her way off, giving the Crown Princess another short bow at her exit

Cara curtseys for Lark, though she's still got that little not-quite-a-laugh smile playing around her lips. When she rises, she steps over to her husband to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. "Your timing is exquisite, love."

Esoka bows Lark off. "Thank you for the tea, your grace." She tries very hard not to stare at the pee. She is in a place where there are servants to deal with it, and the baby responsible for it. She assures Cara and Laric, "He is still very cute."

Really, Laric is just a baby bridge. Acquire baby, pass off to waiting person paid to deal with this thing. He pauses at Cara's comment, though, peering down at Arber's face. "You might be right. Well. At least we know what sort of child he'll grow up to be." He passes the young prince off to get cleaned, sighing and smiling briefly aside at Cara. "For once." The twitch of his lips grows a bit crooked as he glances at Esoka. "A lot cuter when he isn't making first impressions, trust me. I'm sure he won't make a habit of that, or spontaneous and wholly incidental combustions," he adds dryly. "Recent excitement aside, how are all of you?"

It was much harder for Mia not to laugh at Lark's reply. Biting down on her lip seemed to mitigate the problem -- somewhat. "A good evening to you then, Your Grace. And again, my apologies for....," and here she trailed off, her hand waving vaguely towards the exit to the grounds. By which she apparently meant the words exchanged with Alarissa.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Mia before departing.

"Much improved." Thesarin gives a nod, and rolls his left shoulder in his socket with a slow nod. "And yourself, Highness? Don't think I've spoke with you either, since."