(Pre-RP) Council Chambers

As it was a second day, a catch up Small council meeting was held to update the queen on the weeks activities so far, those expected in attendance are Orys Targaryen, Leonel Harrowway, Yana Snow, Baelon Targaryen and Uther Bell, with of course, the Queen.

Most of the Red Keep's servants know Lord Harroway, whose mother was a Targaryen princess herself, and who himself has been on the Queen's council for a number of years. One of the men is too well trained to do more than politely respond to Lord Harroway, though the other man begins to excitedly regale the Lord of Harrenhal with the story of his youngest child's birth, two days earlier.

Orys, already living down the hall, shows up barefoot and wearing a simple red robe that may or may not be a bathing robe dyed red. His feet and hands are black while his face is that of a far younger man, and displays the impertinence of one. He sits alone to the side, as noone ever really wants to sit next to the eccentric sorcerer, artially because of the strange heat that makes his presence physically uncomfortable... but mostly because he's kind of an ass.

They were not waiting long until the queen entered the room, followed by Yana Snow, who always accompanied her to meetings as she had to be there also, two birds with one stone.

"Good day, my lords," Rhaena greeted, she was wearing a half dress, that went to her mid thights, with a corset and all the top parts of a dress, that tapered to the floor behind her, but wore leather trousers also. Her hair was loose down her back, which was opened back in the dress part, not that it was easy to see through her hair, she was wearing the crown of King Aegon instead of her usual circlet, it falling further down her head, but still fitting fine.

"Lord Tyrell begs absence, I have allowed it as he has the shits," Rhaena said, "lord Reyne has an appointment about a trade dispute, Prince Lucerys is absent and.... Well I am sure we shall not lament the absence of the grandmaster,"

She said, and took her seat.

Lyonel rose easily for the queen. He bowed deeply to her ignoring the strain on his broken leg. He sat back down and offered Orys a smile. "I am sure if my Prince considered it a moment longer he would of course realize that a trusted Maester whispers into the ear of every lord. That is not a hive of bees we wish to stir up with our some cause." Then he offered a smile to the queen. "Not to mention he has been known to give some sage advice from time to time."

Baelon stood as well, bowing slightly and raising his wine to the queen.

"Lyonel has it exactly. If we want to start getting rid of maesters, we've got to kill the lot of them. And a few of them are decent enough sorts."

Orys took his seat. "Decency does not factor into it. Survival,though, does. You say, these are intelligent men who have the ears of powerful men. You say, these are good and respectable men. I say, all the more reason to view them as a threat. Should we drag them in the streets and burn them alive? Perhaps not. But I, for one, allow no man to handle my private stationery when I know he can still remember the time we sacked his school and murdered his friends." He sipped his drink.

"Houses like to claim they never forget old slights against their honor... the Citadel never forgets what day it was, how sunny it was, what the offender was wearing and had eaten that morning, and will provide a nice little illustration in case you never quite learned your letters. And you want these decent fellows with their sage advice in the homes of your vassals, raising their children and whispering caution against us?"

EDIT: "Your Grace..." Orys sulked in the corner, not doubting he was right.

"Your Grace..." Orys sulked in the corner, not doubting he was right. Orys was not a man who had doubts, nor a man who needed them.

Orys cheered up, always relishing an opportunity to display his superiority to lesser mortals. "My queen, Westeros will tell tales of this festival for millenia."

Orys giggled and wiggled his fingers in a way no lord ever would. He pranced over to a nearby candle and set it upon the table. He then grabbed the helm off a guard and set it beside the candle. "I'd step back if you don't possess the blood of the dragon... and maybe even then..."

Expert Pyromancy

"Picture before you a cheap but large replica of Harrenhal in its prime, more gild than grit. Lo, a troupe of mummers appears." He sets four pieces of bread before the helm. "They are Harren the Black, proud and slovenly, and his three sons. They will entertain the crowd for, oh, half an hour, with their antics. And then our messenger enters..."

Orys's voice changes to a high pitched peasant's voice. "'My liege, Aegon and his sisters march from the South. They demand you kneel or they will burn you and yours alive.'"

A gruff Pyke accent, "'Fie, dragons don't exist and even if they did, what is dead may never die.' The messenger leaves and the comedy resumes. I have not decided on whether to employ music at this point. I'm thinking slow and gentle, that eventually rises in pitch and tension. Anyway, when the cuecomes..."

He placed his finger upon the candle flame...

Expert Pyromancy

Orys growled and repeated the attempt. This time, he bit his lip, drawing upon the blood of kings.