D1EE - The Coronation feast -- Table fourteen (Open, expecting)

[Simon IV de Montfort]

Someways away from the main tables, the Baron Simon de Montfort sat at one table. The young noble was uncertain about proper seating protocols and etiquette, and as such had taken one of the empty tables. Perhaps in time, he would find suitable guests to join him - or at the very least, get a great sampling of Anglo food.

[Andre l'Ecrivain]

An attendant, unsure of relative ranks, suggests to the second son of Gilles d'Agnatu that he might enjoy sitting at--table fourteen.

Andre sketches a short bow before he is seated. "Good evening, and God keep you," he says. "I'm called Andre l'Ecrivain."

[Simon IV de Montfort]

The young man bowed from his seat at the new arrival, assuming it was proper protocol.

"God keep you as well, Andre l'-" The voice of the young noble was an interesting one - it did not shout, it did not demand, but it stood strong and just, but uneasy. Perhaps, in time, it would become as steel.

Realization hit the the Noble, who stood and beamed some - still within the shadow of the l'Ecrivain, for certain, but his youth an exuberance still shone like a chalice all the same.

"Andre! Let me thank you again for your correspondence, friend - I was scared that I would err without your guidance."

He then remembered that he had not introduced himself, and turned sheepish. With an apologetic tone he began:

"Forgive me, my introduction - I am Simon de Montfort, Baron of Montfort L'Amaury. It would honour me if you would join me at this table."

[Andre l'Ecrivain]

The heavyset man's face broadens as he smiles.

"Well met, then, my lord baron, and welcome!" says Andre. "It was a pleasure to have letters from you, of course, but all the more so to see you here in the flesh!

"Tell me, if you would," he says, sitting with the familiar ease of someone who is often at board, "how was your journey hither? And what news of lands far from this one? We get so little of it, relatively speaking, out towards the edge of the world on this Island of Brutus."

[Llywelyn mab Iorwerth]

"Tell me, if you would," he says, sitting with the familiar ease of someone who is often at board, "how was your journey hither? And what news of lands far from this one? We get so little of it, relatively speaking, out towards the edge of the world on this Island of Brutus."

"I thought it was of the Britans good sir. At least the Romans spoke of it as Brittania." Llwelyn sees an open spot and hears the last part of the conversation. "But the South knows their ways around daggers"

He seats himself. "But please, continue. I am Llwelyn mab Iorwerth" the name is a mass of vowels "and I would enjoy to hear your story as well"

[Margaret de Beaumont]

Making her way through the crowd, escorted by none other than her father, the Earl Leicester, Margaret makes her way clad in her best feast finery. While she is dressed appropriately for her station, her wide and comely hips plus her father's rank see them through the crowd well enough. She waves at her nephew with the small motions of one born and bred for the court before eyeing the fellows at his table. Choosing a set of chairs that will place her to her nephew's right and her father to her left, she and her father approach the table.

"Goodeven, nephew. May we dine beside you, tonight of all nights, in celebration of our dear new king?"

She nods to those also at the table, waiting for her father to pull her seat for her, even though she's clearly fully capable of doing so herself.

[Robert Whitehands]

Robert Whitehands, Earl of Leicester, was far from too proud to appropriately seat his daughter. After an affirmation from Simon, he gives a respectful nod to the gentlemen at the table, his face smiling and his eyes bright in an almost smug way.

Making sure Margaret is comfortable, Whitehands sits next, mustering up a warmer smile as he makes himself comfortable for the meal.

[Andre l'Ecrivain]

"I thought it was of the Britans good sir. At least the Romans spoke of it as Brittania." Llwelyn sees an open spot and hears the last part of the conversation. "But the South knows their ways around daggers"

He seats himself. "But please, continue. I am Llwelyn mab Iorwerth" the name is a mass of vowels "and I would enjoy to hear your story as well"

Andre smiles and makes his reply:

"The Romans did speak of it as Britannia, of course, but the very word comes from the name of Brutus, who, as Galfridus Monemutensis tells us, following Nennius, was a scion of Æneas Troiæ, that very same whose line gave rise to Rome itself. And it follows, then, that the people of the island would be called the Brittones."

After a moment's pause, he adds "The point about daggers strikes home, however."

And then the standing and bowing to greet the other-comers.

[Simon IV de Montfort]

What surprises Simon is the sheer crowd around his small table - in truth, it was a lot to take in. But he would not hesitate, and he would do his best not to falter. Standing and bowing to the new arrivals, he waits until they are seated before being seated himself.

"Honoured Aunt, Honoured Grandfather, I am touched that you would join me here today. I hope the coronation has treated you well? Please, allow me to introduce Andre l'Ecrivain, a scholar kind enough to answer my inquiries before I traveled here."

He introduces the steadfast fellow at the table, before turning to the flame haired knight.

"Let me also introduce a welcomed guest to the table, and forgive me dearly if I pronounce this wrong, L-luwellin mab Lohrearth? If I have done you a disservice in my pronounciation sir, please correct me thusly."

He prepared himself for the tale he was to tell.

"I had just been invited to tell the tale of my arrival. I profess it is no Ordo Virtutum, but I will tell it as best I can."

In a softer tone than usual, he began:

"At the break of Dawn a few days ago, my group and I began our travels to Calais. We rode on horseback, setting up camp just outside Paris, where we watched the city from atop a hill at the end of the first day. By the end of the second, we had made our way to Le Poncher, a lovely little along the River Somme. We followed the river to Noyelle-sur-mer, taking off in the night."

He paused to catch his breath.

"The weather guided us well, though we spent longer than we expected on the boat - that was because our captain landed ashore in Dover, rather than Hastings as we first predicted. Still, our supplies and finance held strong, and so we followed the signage to London over the next couple of days. We established camp last night and, by the grace of God, here we are."

[Andre l'Ecrivain]

Andre chuckles a bit.

"There're many among the population as remain a bit...wary of people arriving at Hastings," he says. "But tell us, did the white cliffs gleam in the light, as is said of them? It is for such things that songs of them are sung--or played, as I heard one performer do who'd come to Monmouth Castle."

[Llywelyn mab Iorwerth]

Andre smiles and makes his reply:

"The Romans did speak of it as Britannia, of course, but the very word comes from the name of Brutus, who, as Galfridus Monemutensis tells us, following Nennius, was a scion of Æneas Troiæ, that very same whose line gave rise to Rome itself. And it follows, then, that the people of the island would be called the Brittones."

After a moment's pause, he adds "The point about daggers strikes home, however."

And then the standing and bowing to greet the other-comers.

"See, and I learn something new."

Llwelyn bites into some heron and watches the others join the table. The other noble apologizes for getting his name wrong, but it was an inevitability that he had already surrendered too and simply dips his head in acknowledgement and prompts the man to continue. He observes the others at the table, all who seemingly have ties to distinguished company.

[Simon IV de Montfort]

Andre chuckles a bit.

"There're many among the population as remain a bit...wary of people arriving at Hastings," he says. "But tell us, did the white cliffs gleam in the light, as is said of them? It is for such things that songs of them are sung--or played, as I heard one performer do who'd come to Monmouth Castle."

Simon nodded, looking more animated as he talked.

"It may only be in the dawn, but my word. It was a wall of pearls! Had I the means, I would have likely cracked some off to forge into a dedication of some kind."

He did seek to inquire about Hastings, but instinct held him back.

[Andre l'Ecrivain]

"I've not had the chance to see them," Andre says to Simon. And "I am glad to have been of service" to Llywelyn.

And he attends more to the feasting, and to his own part of it, as well!