"I see pleasant lies won't pacify this king," Arrys chuckled, a smile in his eyes, and rethought his strategy. "You probably recall better than I, as I made my escape from the lash of his sharp tongue years before you were sent to him. Let us both hope that we can avoid his anger awhile longer." Or forever, if the plague chose to be so kind. He waved his hand dismissively, "The gods don't like the Vale anyways, there are too many living godswoods, even if none of them are worshiped at."
When the king brought up less pressing topics Arrys settled back in his chair, the picture of relaxation, and glanced about the room as if it were an example of the keep as a whole. "Do not apologize, I do not doubt that the business of running a kingdom is strenuous enough without the need for time to placate every minor lord in court. I like it well here. For one, it is warmer than the Eyrie, and Your Grace keeps an interesting court."