Fort Weyr

Stonehaven Hold - Courtyard
High in a valley in the Fortian mountain range, sits Stonehaven cothold. Backed up against the mountain cliffs, this rugged little cothold can house up to forty people at a time, though usually averages around 20. Approaching the cothold you first move past the large empty field where dragons can land and depart. To the right is a path that leads to a sturdy looking barn and pastures beyond, where all of Stonehaven's animals are housed. To the left are the fields, and depending on the season they are either filled with crops, barren, or buried in snow.

Straight ahead walls that surround the courtyard rise at least 8 feet tall, thin arrow slits at regular intervals along the front and both sides, reaching all the way to the cliff face on the right, and to the main hold building on the left. The gate is black iron and sturdy, set neatly into an archway in the wall, with thin slices of stone radiating outward. Above the gate is Stonehaven's crest, carved from wood and freshly painted.

Turnover has come and gone, but smaller gathers are still held during the winter while the world waits for spring to return. It's cold this mid-winter afternoon, but the skies are clear and the ambience festive as Stonehaven welcomes friends and neighbors. The field beyond the hold plays host to dragons coming and going; some drop off passengers before resuming flight while others linger in manners both sociable and not as may be their wont. Fjainoith, very much in her element, is both by turns after sweeping to a graceful landing. The silvery limn of proddiness isn't (yet) present about her hide, but there's a diamond-brilliance to the snow flurry of her thoughts that hints of promise with which she favors some of the nearby males. Perhaps that's the cause of Lhiannon's long look askance back at the icy green after she dismounts, gloves smoothing almost self-consciously over her heavy skirt before she sets off in the direction of the hold proper, exchanging greetings with some familiar faces along the way in search of warmth, whether at a fire outdoors or in.

Smaller gathers are one way to keep spirits up during the colder days! What else is there to do, in these remote parts of Fort’s territory? The atmosphere here is certainly cozy but pleasant despite the cold; those who linger outside are likely very accustomed to the winter months. Fires are, indeed, interspersed among the grounds, some small and others slightly larger and ringed by benches and seats for those brave enough to truly linger. Rayathess stands by one of the smaller fires, dressed in thick layered clothing and jacket in hues of black and deep blue. His fur-trimmed hood is lowered, long hair tied back at the nape of his neck, beard neatly groomed; ever the picture of a formally attired Harper Master. It begs to be seen in just what form his role is here today, however. Family or Craft? He is deep in conversation with two others, though it’s perhaps not entirely coincidental that he happens to glance askance just as Lhiannon is within range and his subtle (if curt) nod may indicate otherwise.

There's little outward reaction on Lhiannon's part when she catches that subtle nod, save for the smallest lift of her eyebrows as she happens to meet his glance while in the process of acquiring a mug of something warm to cradle between her gloved hands. An equally small flick of a sidelong look takes in his companions; her meander not-quite in that direction is a casual one, slow enough that it could hardly be called purposeful. She might eventually end up near the periphery of that relatively smaller fire carefully apart from the conversing triad, for all that her progress slows here and there as she greets one or two others who are also familiar.

If anything can be gleaned from the two Rayathess converses with, it's their dress; both are in tasteful finery befitting their Craft ranks as Sr. Journeymen, insignias marking one as Miner, the other Smith. Perhaps familiarity is not the case here and it's more a neutral exchange that eventually spins to a natural conclusion. The two excuse themselves, moving off to parts unknown but still talking amongst themselves. Rayathess' expression is unreadable in the wake of their departure, and his weight shifts not to leave but to half-turn. He still does not face Lhiannon directly, but the movement is gesture enough; she's been given an offer and choice to come forwards or move on, on her own terms.

Fjainoith's rider may just as well be another pink-cheeked face in the crowd to those with whom she isn't acquainted (assuming that they also missed her solo arrival a'dragonback), a woman who may well appear to be taking in her surroundings with a slightly wide-eyed affect. A tiny tilt forward of her chin follows the passage of the journeymen, blue eyes slanting a glance toward the harper master. Deliberately, she lifts her cup for a leisurely swallow, permitting herself a not-quite smile before she ambles closer to the nearby source of warmth. There's probably a greeting on the tip of her tongue; certainly, her lips part briefly before closing again almost immediately after. "One might wonder, " says Lhiannon evenly at length, as if resuming an interrupted conversation, "who's in attendance today." The subtle, subsequent arch of an eyebrow afterward implies that whatever it may sound like to passers-by, this isn't small talk about the other guests; the inscrutable look that follows all but confirms it. Does the master harper attend, or the man? She, for her part, appears quite free of (obvious) insignia this afternoon.

Subtleness is not lost on Rayathess and his gaze remains fixated on the fire in front of him. It remains there for some time, even after Lhiannon has made her implied gesture of small talk. His eventual reply will be terse and slightly edged, a gruff spoken: "Would it matter?" Nothing else immediately follows, but if given the chance without prying or pressure, he will relent with a heavy exhale. "My presence here is largely in support of my … familial alliances." he explains, looking away from the fire as the words leave his mouth and quickly scan their immediate surroundings. They come to rest, at last, on Lhiannon but hold no immediate telling signs to his mood; aside from the usual aloofness. "It would largely depend on who I am with." Hidden message or simply the truth? Stonehaven has always been a complexity for him – whether he's here to support his brother or as a harper master? They likely overlap, whether he wants it to or not. "One might wonder," Rayathess purposely spins the words back on her, with a hint of a smirk tugging one corner of his mouth. "The same for you."

A thoughtful, little hum is, at first, the only response that's forthcoming from Lhiannon, who also takes some moments to contemplate the way the flames crackle before them. Her gaze lifts to him after in time to catch his smirk. "It would largely depend on who I am with, " as it so often does, and the corners of her mouth tug upward. Two can engage in purposeful spinning! That beginning of a smile lingers; it's undoubtedly enjoyable for her, this word-play that likely is less a part of her day-to-day now than it once was. "Would it matter?" It's a trifle lighter than his delivery, but the arm that folds over her midriff while she takes another drink may make up for the remainder of the weight. Does it matter?

"No, I suppose it wouldn't." Rayathess remains blunt in their exchange, his expression hardly softening despite the ease of which they engage in this word play. It's not an end or even a dismissal; some who do not know him well enough to notice (or care) might read differently. Despite his rank, he is not sociable and his presence here alone speaks volumes on his standing with his younger brother. So while there may be a heavy silence between them, it will be broken if Lhiannon has the patience to wait him out; call it a test or him simply being a stubborn bastard even out here in the cold. "I am wondering, however," he begins, his gaze now once more on the fire. His hands lift to flex briefly towards the warmth – or perhaps to release some underlying simmering temper through minute movement. "As to why you're here." Alone is heavily implied.

If Lhiannon is either disappointed or satisfied with his reply, there are no words offered to indicate her thoughts one way or the other. That almost-smile stays with her for some moments more, though it's all but faded back into neutrality by the time he brings out his follow-up remark. "She wanted to see the mountains for a bit, " the greenrider reveals carefully after a beat, gaze following the way his hands flex outward, "and I expect we'll be planning to stay at the weyr for a few days during the next seven." Her lips purse briefly after that matter-of-fact, politely vague remark before easing on the tail end of a soft exhalation; she clears her throat. "It's nice not to have to obfuscate with another person, for a change." Even Orrion doesn't know about her extracurricular training. "I've always appreciated that about our acquaintance, " she dares to add quietly with a sidelong glance before taking another swallow from her mug. Save for the few times it's been likely known to him that she's required to appear to have some temporary connection with a source or fellow information-dealer, she is generally alone at these sorts of events, regardless of in which guise she attends.

Rayathess' expression remains unchanged, though the subtle shift of his eyes suggests otherwise; is he trying to glimpse Fjainoith, after that remark of her rider's? His focus returns, as expected, to the flames and not Lhiannon despite the continued threads of conversation between them. "Is that so?" he returns, his tone suggesting indifference regardless of the naturally inquisitive slant. He too is generally alone at these events regardless of whether or not it's his own kin and blood hosting. There are plenty of excuses (or lack of) that he could offer her now in order to leave and yet he remains. Rayathess does not offer suggestions, however, or even hint at an incoming verbal invitation for her continued presence; as always, it's all subtle cues and never quite straightforward. He'll glance sidelong in passing, making brief eye contact with her a few beats after his last statement. Enlighten him, then? Or is it humor?

In another time and place, Hanalee might have blushed with all the gracelessness of a girl not unaffected when their eyes meet. Lhiannon, however, watches-without-watching; whether it's due to the influence of the wintry witch green or a steadiness born of the passage of time, her even, "In fact, " manages to be delivered with a similar affect of indifference. Familiar enough with his demeanor by now to be well-aware that he would have found some way to remove himself with due haste if the conversation were unwanted, some amusement is permitted to show in the arch of an eyebrow, the almost-twitch to one corner of her mouth; she, at least, is enjoying this tête-à-tête.

Rayathess may just give himself away by not answering Lhiannon’s riposte and simply scoffing at it; to others, it would seem like a rebuff and dismissal. Truly, she is correct: if he really did find displeasure in her company right now, he would have excused himself immediately. That he continues to linger, even with this not-quite conversation hovering between them? Is damning. So it should come as no surprise - or perhaps a little - that he’s first to ‘yield’ or, at the very least, call a draw. “I am still unconvinced that you would not be able to find someone, even here, agreeable enough to carry on a decent conversation.” he dryly remarks, with just enough inflection to his tone to suggest a potentially amused angle. Did he… just tease, a little? He moves to step away from the fire and for that half second it could be assumed that this is when he excuses himself – but it’s not the case here. His body turns, posture still far from relaxed even as his arm is subtly, and politely, offered. Rayathess does not meet her gaze for long or directly, but the unspoken might be obvious: it’s a rare open invitation to walk with him.

"Such optimism, master harper. Surely you're already well-aware that something about making a lengthy study of human nature renders many people less agreeable, " almost-teases Lhiannon in return after another pull from her hopefully still-warm mug. A sidelong glance follows his motion, eyes lifting toward his in a flash of surprise that's as suddenly there as not once his arm is proffered. It takes but a moment for her to carefully shift her cup from one gloved hand to the other so that the one nearest him is free to politely curl about his elbow. Should he lead on, she'll follow.