(121-02-19) Silenced Stag, Taming Dragon
Silenced Stag, Taming Dragon
Summary: Visenya makes polite enquiries of Amadys. Amadys makes startling discoveries about beauty, insanity and terror.
Date: Date of play (19/02/2014)
Related: The Whoremaster dragon plot
Players:
Amadys..Visenya..

It's a balmy evening, with the sunset smearing its flames into mist and dusk, the first star dimly visible, herald of a lively night to come, and the ghost of a broad-faced moon behind a swirl of cloud. But one acolyte who presumably should be interested in the majestic discipline of astronomy appears, nonetheless, indifferent to the progress of these various and stately heavenly bodies. His robes flapping back in the lukewarm breeze, he sits at the rim of the Honeywine stone bridge, swinging long legs over the dark water, and gazing into its gentle ripples with an expression that could be contemplative…or vacuous. A scrap of parchment passes idly between his long hands; his face is shaded not by his lowered hood, but by the unrestrained chaos of his lank black hair.

"Hello." A sweet, feminine voice calls out. On the bridge is a tall young woman with long silvery hair that is decorated with a headband covered in sapphires that shine in the dim light. Her gown is lavishly decorated and a pale blue. The Citadel at night is not such a place to see such a girl. She is flanked by two men-at-arms that wear the Targaryen badge. She takes a step towards the acolyte, her slippers popping out under her skirts, and glittering with stones in the pale moonlight, "It appears we are lost."

"…lost…?" the lounging stripling repeats at first, as his eyes, a dark blue that seems to reflect the dusken sky, shift, startled, from the still darker water. As his attention - somewhat reluctantly - develops from the lonely argent beauty to the sigil of the guards at her either side, Amadys Baratheon clambers to his feet, and inclines his head and touches his brow in quick but definite obeisance.

Nevertheless something more subversive hangs about his grin as he lowers his eyes and murmurs, "Lost, indeed. Aren't we all, my lady…or is it princess? Forgive my ignorance, and let me know whither were you headed…? I will help you if I can."

"Lost." The girl repeats with an eager smile, "Lady. Lady Visenya Targaryen. Perhaps you have met my twin Ser Daevon, the Maiden's Knight?" She takes another step towards Amadys, "I am hoping to find someone who knows something about the lore of dragons. I had thought such information would be kept in the library, but alas I cannot locate it."

The acolyte's countenance changes with fluidity and speed; he seems quite guilelessly to wear his reactions on his face, and upon learning the Targaryen maid's name, he is quite obviously both excited and slightly alarmed. The Maiden's Knight is not, after all, the only one of these twins with a certain reputation. But such a challenge dealt out of the darkening obscurity of eventide is hardly one any Baratheon would pass up. "Honoured indeed, my lady. I'm slightly acquainted with your twin, yes. I am named Amadys, presently serving here; my brother is your family's trusty Lord of Storm's End. So we are kin from afar, too," he intimates, perhaps experimenting if that is really the way to a dragon's heart, "if the tales speak true of Orys Baratheon's parentage…"

Sliding into step with the guards, he begins to lead the way towards the Citadel's core. "I am not learned in the subject myself, I fear, my lady. You will need Archmaester Luckin, I should say…I think he might be in the vicinity of the Seneschal's Tower yonder…if he's still up. He's getting on a bit, and tires himself out. But I can at least promise you a pleasant and, I hope, intriguing stroll…few ladies of lesser dignity than your own ever get this far!"

They say the Maiden Knight's sister is mad, but this girl doesn't look mad. She is more beautiful than her brother, as if such a thing could be possible, and seems amiable enough, "What does it matter if it is true or not? He was still a friend to Aegon the First, which means you are a friend to me, Amadys Baratheon." She follows behind the acolyte and guards, "Well, undboutably I shall find some sort of maester who knows of this sort of thing."

Amadys is always talkative, but there is now a slightly nervy quality to his eager babbling. "Generally the answer to anything unusual hereabouts is 'Ask Thane Thricewise'. He has visions, you know, and now he's an archmaester, and the smallfolk say he's a wizard as welll…which would hardly surprise me. But I don't think his visions are like…" he hesitates in respect and caution, "like dragon visions. Your brother once mentioned one of…those…to me, my lady, and it sounded…quite different. Archmaester Thane is of the North, and knows nothing of dragons, as far as I know. No, you want Luckin…or maybe Gyldayn, he could tell you about the history…when I last saw Luckin, he was cutting up a dead lizard-lion's bones…I wondered if they were dragon-kin, too. But I didn't dare ask him, he was in quite a temper that morning. Anyway."

This rambling, organic monologue has taken them directly before the Seneschal's Courtyard. Amadys is still toying vaguely with the scrap of parchment in his grasp, but his darting glance over his shoulder shoots over at Visenya more and more frequently.

Visenya smiles in that way that pretty women do when men babble at them. It's gracious and warm and remains fixed onto her lovely face. "I plan on taming the whoremaster." She says this as if it were a simple task. Like going to plant a garden or build a bookcase. "Daevon will help me, of course. I won't be able to keep him away from it. But, we shall tame it, and ride it together." She smiles still, "I need books more than anything else. What can one without blood of the Dragon tell me of taming one?"

"…Ah." Visenya may not yet have tamed a dragon, but she has at least just succeeded in silencing a stag. Amadys tries to keep composed, but just the most fractional shift of his brow slips out, as he seems to accept with resignation that the rumours about Ser Daevon's twin are, after all, quite true. "Does…does anyone know where it went?" he enquires politely, feeling the absurdity of that question, merely let drop to cover an awkward moment. "And as to your question, my lady, I fear I really could not tell you. When you came upon me I was but taming some verses, and finding them quite rebellious enough already…"

Then his slightly subdued tone trails off, and he stops in his tracks, his eyes gleaming. "'One without blood of the dragon'…but in fact, we have one of those, my lady Visenya. A bastard dragonseed, reared an orphan boy in the city, is now a novice…I myself scarcely know the lad, but I gather he's been taken under the dark wings of Thane, whom I mentioned before…"

"You don't think I can do it, do you?" Visenya asks with that same smile she had earlier. "It doesn't matter. No one thinks I can do anything. You are no exception." She shakes her head, "If I knew were it was going would I be here? No. I'd be going to it." She nods at this information, "Then, I shall seek out the boy Bryn and the master Thane." And with that, she turns, and walks away.

"The Umbral Tower for the Thricewise, my lady," Amadys calls after her, his voice croaking as if breaking anew. "Farewell for a time, and good fortune, and…very well met. May you find what it is that your heart seeks." Feeling a bit better pleased with himself at this tactfully ambiguous parting, he bows with a flourish, then turns to go apart his own way.

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