| Some Suspicions |
| Summary: | Keyte has them. She shares with Laurent. |
| Date: | 16/03/2014 |
| Related: | Wickham's Nest ones |
| Players: |
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Great Hall, Garden Isle Manse
Here a grand manse stands on the center of a small island. Over a stone bridge wide enough for a vintner's wagon, a dark, two-story building rises, with two 60-foot-high towers at the northwest and southeast corners of the manor. High, arched windows have been secured with iron bars on the ground floor. Steps lead up to a small porch, guarded by two rampant griffins. Ten-foot-tall, five-foot-wide double doors of iron-banded oak provide entrance into the manse. In the center of each door is carved an enormous Tyrell rose, gilded and gleaming.
While the bridge connects to Sphinx Street, the front of the building faces Starry Street, giving a fine view of the domes and towers of the Starry Sept.
There's a pleasant walled garden in the back, viewed from the windows in the back wall. The upper stories have balconies to overlook it. Two centuries-old oaks dominate the area, their canopy offering shade, but there are also flowerbeds all around. Pansies of various colors dominate, but there are also marigolds, tulips, and of course, roses in white, red, and especially Tyrell gold.
It's been a busy day for Keyte Tyrell, readying herself in the morningtime for a long visit to the Sept, and then scurrying back home to seek out her elder sister. She returns now, down the stairs from her room on the upper level, descending upon the hall in her usual flurry of skirts. Her hair is pinned up into an intricate crown braid, and her shoulders are bared by the cut of her gown, skirts swishing as she sweeps into the room. She looks to be on another mission — but when isn't she?
"Where are you bound?" Laurent's surly voice cuts through the air like a knife. The Thorn is seated at the great table that dominates the hall, a map spread out before him, and a pair of books open at his right hand. There's a quill there too, though it's not the brooding, murderous type. Just a pen. And he seems glad to leave it off for a moment, even if he is frowning at Keyte.
"Cousin!" Keyte seems truly glad for the interruption, her blue eyes lighting eagerly as they settle on Laurent. "T'were you I was on the hunt for, actually. I know you've little and less time, but I was hoping you'd spare me just a moment of it?" She doesn't seem open to argument, approaching the table and leaning over it next to Ser Thorn. To see what she can see on that map.
The map is a map of the border between the Reach and Dorne, and the lands on either side. There's a ledger, which he slaps shut as she approaches, and what seems to be a journal, which he lays the ledger atop, though it may be possible to get a glimpse of what seems to be a short list in a sloppy hand before it's covered. "Me?" Laurent seems surprised by the news, perhaps even too surprised to sound sour for a moment. But it returns to him as he gestures toward an empty chair. "Of course, Cousin. I've more than a moment for family."
Keyte's attention snaps from the map to Laurent's ledger and journal as he moves so quickly to hide them, and back to the map again. And then she glances up, all pretty smiles for her cousin's obliging. "I shan't keep you long, I promise. I just… I've been to the Sept this morning, and I met lord Kevyn, and…" The chair's legs screech along the floor as she drags it out, and Keyte flops down with uncanny grace. "I hoped you might share with me what all is going on, is all."
"You came to me, because I've no sense of propriety," Laurent observes with a smirk, "And won't hesitate to speak of it with a lady. My clever cousin." He slouches back in his chair, watching her with dark eyes. "Of course I'll share it with you. What do you know, Cousin? What has the Cockshaw lad told you?"
Keyte's smile dimples at that, herself barely able to contain a mischievous laugh. "Well, it's true," is all she can say, eyes shining. She spends a moment arranging her skirts as she relays, "He says the Hightowers claim there isn't enough evidence to act against the Blackmonts."
"So says Lord Ormund," Laurent confirms with a nod of his head. His face makes his own low opinion of that verdict clear. "But it's obvious enough that he's just afraid to commit. Spineless." His tone is increasingly bellicose as he goes on. "Hightowers be damned. I spoke with Abram Florent today, and we mean to ride. We can gather enough swords, mayhap even more than the Dornish brought against Wickham's Nest already. And I'll hire men, if need be."
Her brows lift high enough to crease her forehead, and Keyte's eyes widen at her cousin. "Oh? You do? I — oh. Well so, it was the Blackmonts, then? Do you think Lord Lorant will sanction action? Perhaps Lord Ormund is not long enough from his sickbed to know his left from his right. Kevyn said he asked to hear the story all over again, like some part of it might change. You don't think he had anything to do with it, do you?"
"Lord Ormund?" It's clear from Laurent's expression that he hadn't considered that, but after a moment's thought he shakes his head. "No, I think it was the Blackmonts. Or some Blackmonts, and I think it was over a woman. But either way, Ser Viggo is satisfied that it was the Blackmonts — that's what matters," he says, shrugging his broad shoulders. "Abram doubts that Lord Tyrell will react differently than Lord Hightower, but I've confidence in our family. The Reach needs justice in this. Lord Lorant won't let it lie." As ever, his confidence in his family is perfect.
Keyte tilts her head a little, teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheek as Laurent speaks. "But doesn't it seem odd, that the lord rises from his sickbed just in time for all this? I don't mean to clear the names of any Dornish, but perhaps they were only the sword." Either way, she is rather dismayed, frowning herself. "Of course Ser Abram thinks that, he's a Florent," says she, rolling her eyes behind a flutter of lashes. "It is well that he offers his assistance, though."
"Only because he's a friend to The Blackrood," Laurent snorts, "Though he seems decent enough, for a Florent." He reaches up to run one hand through his close-cropped hair, leaving it in disarray, though he doesn't notice. "I hadn't considered the timing," he admits, "But I don't see what Hightower gains from it." Still, his tone is thoughtful. She's got him interested. "I'm to meet with Lord Ormund and Ser Olyvar myself, soon," he finally says, eyes narrowing. "What should you think to ask them, were you in my place, Cousin?"
"Hightower have not been kind to their liege house of late," Keyte notes with a shrug, though she's struggling to come up with any other motives on the spot. "Perhaps they hoped for some wrong-step from our Lord uncle, to sow discontent? Maybe it's personal, trying to show up our sweet cousin some more. Seven only knows, and may the Stranger come for whoever were involved in such… atrocities." She slumps forward onto the table, just for a moment as uncouth as Laurent. "I should like to ask if my lord had forgotten hisself in his sickness," she groans, "But that wouldn't be proper, would it. What about, what more evidence do they need?"
"If they summoned me," Laurent says, with a very genuine relish, "They're in for a dose of improper. I'll have your answers to both, Cousin, and more besides." He raps his knuckles on the tabletop as some thought of it brings a savage grin to his face. "It could be that Hightower was behind it," he allows. "Perhaps I'll accuse him of it, and our swords will tell the truth of the matter, hm?"
"Aren't they just," Keyte retorts, straightening up in her chair as if reminded of her own sense of propriety. "I could be wrong, of course. Just… the way Kevyn told it, things seem… off. I can't quite put my finger on it, cous, but something's not right. It's awful, the whole business, and I want for justice to be served properly. For — for everyone's sakes." Her expression, along with her inflection, is nothing short of pleading.
"Oh, The Mother's sagging teats, Cousin," Laurent says with a snort. "You can at least do me the courtesy of saying, 'For Kevyn' when you mean 'For Kevyn,' can't you?" Laurent asks it sourly, and the two 'For Kevyn's' come in his best Keyte (or Kesha?) voice. "If something seems amiss to your lad Kevyn, then you can be certain, I think, that Ser Viggo agrees. And if you agree as well, then…" He shrugs, as if to say that settles it, in his mind. Only adding, "You're cleverer than me by half again. I'll take your counsel in this, but not share it outside our confidence, I think."
"Well I don't just mean for Kevyn!" Keyte is quick to defend herself, blush rising. "But I do, mean for Kevyn. And Viggo. And all of the Cockshaws, for the men and women they lost. It's… it's… it's horrible, senseless, and I just… anyway." She shakes her head, and rises from her chair to smooth down her skirts. "I don't know that they suspect the Hightowers, but I do. Those vassals of ours are not so clever as they might think," she asserts, hands on her hips. Hmph. "Thank you, Laurent. You're more awful than I give you credit for." By which she means: you rock.
"More awful than you give me credit for in private, between us," Laurent guesses, wearing a wry grin that fits him ill. "If you suspect the Hightowers, then I do too. I'll not speak of it save to you, or mayhaps to the Hightowers," he adds with a chuckle, "Though if that be the case, you'll next hear of it from a crier, I suspect, rather than your cousin." He isn't even courteous enough to stand when she does, instead just nodding his head. "I'll speak to you afterward, before we ride," he adds, "Or I should hope to."
"May the Warrior guide your sword, cous, and the Father watch over you." Keyte reaches over to squeeze at her cousin's shoulder, with only a brief look toward the ceiling at his lack of pleasantries before she is sweeping back out of the room. Some Thorns will just never learn. "I appreciate it, I truly do.