(121-03-07) Anger Unspent
Anger Unspent
Summary: Viggo returns to the Quill & Tankard to ready himself for travel and Garvin departs after a sharp dismissal.
Date: 03/08/2014
Related: A Black Masque and Fire and Circumstance

After meeting with the Hightowers' steward and delivering various messages, Garvin escorts Viggo back to the Quill & Tankard and up to his room. Kevyn has already laid out the knight's travel clothes and packed up what will be taken on the journey, and the squire has gone off somewhere or other. "Looks like Kevyn prepared everything," Garvin says, looking around, then turning to examine Viggo. "Except you. You can't exactly go riding dressed up like a shark." His own squire, Nyran Redwyne, somehow knew to be at the tavern tonight, and he knocks before entering with a flagon and two goblets.

The wear of meetings and messages takes it toll on Viggo, becoming increasingly solemn and dark as the minutes have ticked past. His hat sits perched on the back of a chair, hanging loosely from its point. His fingers skim along the brim as he enters the room, boots sounding solidly on the floor. "Nor shall I try," he admits, eying his travel clothes. Waving the squire towards a small side table, he pokes through his things adding to what Kevyn has laid out. Two small blades, his preferred swordbelt, the length of his blade and a short bag that sounds of coins and smells of tobacco. "What comes next for you? Do you intend to marshall the Dornish here?" He asks prefunctorly, staring down at the items.

Garvin nods to Nyran, who pours two goblets, leaving them and the flagon on the table, then withdraws, pulling the door shut. "I'm not certain," Garvin says, taking one of the cups. "I don't really have the authority to do much of anything. I suppose it will be up to Ser Gwayne to question the Dornes. I do plan to keep apprised, however, of anything he finds." He pauses to take a long drink, eyes moving over the costume. "Do you um…need help changing?"

"Very well," Viggo says, not dismissing the reality of that — only acknowledging it brusquely. He moves to collect a goblet for himself, taking a long draught before shaking his head. "No." Setting the goblet aside, he peels the vest that had made up the base of his shark's fin and tosses it aside without interest before bending to untie his boots.

Garvin takes another long swallow, a shudder running through him, as he watches. "Are you sure? I don't mind."

"It wouldn't be right, my Lord," Viggo says simply, voice cutting in a rough laugh. "I can manage well enough." His dress boots are kicked aside so that he can pad across the rough floors, fingers unlacing his shirt unthinkingly. With the laces undone it splits down the front as he pivots with dark eyes that are glassy with emotion, hand reaching for his goblet, looking towards Garvin. "I am certain you have else to attend. I should prepare." He lifts his drink, toasting either Garvin or the Tyrell House. Both. Before drinking. "Thank you and your house."

Garvin raises his goblet as well, offering a weak sort of smile. "You've suffered a great loss," he says softly, taking a sip. "I wouldn't leave you alone just now. The least I can do is stay until Kevyn returns." He sips again, then licks his lower lip. "I know you must be hurting right now, Ser. If there's anything I can do to take some of the burden from you…."

"It would be fore the best," Viggo says of leaving him alone, hand tightening on the curve of the goblet. His jaw clenches, teeth grinding as he is reminded of just what he has lost. "There is nothing, nothing that can replace the burden of a brother lost." He sets the goblet down again, this time sharply and pulls off his shirt to toss it aside. Anger cuts through his movements, pointed and vicious as he reaches for the shirt that has been laid out for him without interest and pulls it over his head.

Garvin quickly moves to refill the goblet, no stranger to using drink to mask emotional pain. "Of course not," he says, voice still soft. "Nothing will ever take the pain away entirely. But if I could do anything, anything at all, to lessen that pain, even for a short time, I would gladly do so." He steps back, biting at his lower lip. "You want to hurt someone right now. I can see the fire in your blood, you want to lash out and make someone hurt, the way you hurt."

It is not drained. Half the drink still remains from Viggo's dalliance with it, unlike his usual wine-swlling urges. He does not touch it after it is refilled, tearing at his cuffs with sharp hands and tense muscles. "No. This is more than pain. Pain, I have known and survived. This is… I will see the men who did it dead and more," he swears, spitting the words.

Garvin nods quickly, putting down his own goblet. "Yes, of course you will. They'll suffer, as you have. But that's tomorrow or the day after. You're hurting now." He takes off his ridiculous hat, tossing it on the chair, then shaking out his hair. "Ser Viggo." He takes a step closer. "I want you to…to use me. I won't make the pain go away, but maybe it will make you forget, even for a few minutes."

Tension rivets Viggo's spine, fingers harshly lacing the edges of his cuffs into place as his muscles tighten at Garvin's words. Pain as a physical element dug deep. After the Tyrell Lord takes a step forward, there is a long and silent pause after his offer. Looking up with dark eyes black as coal, Viggo begins harshly. "Lord Garvin, I want you…" His words break, hands curling into fists as he finishes, "To go. Leave me with my grief." It rings like an ultimatum. Not a request.

Garvin finches, sucking in a breath. "Yes, Ser," he murmurs, stepping back and grabbing his hat, then his goblet. He retreats to the door, but looks back long enough to say, "My prayers go with you to the Red Mountains, Ser Viggo. When you return, we shall see what I may uncover here. May the Father Above grant you the justice you deserve." And with that, he opens the door and steps through.

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