(121-03-17) Where There's Smoke
Where There's Smoke
Summary: After the duel, Aevander and Visenya head home.
Date: March 19, 2014
Related: Dubious Honor

"Why do you let such insignificant people talk to you in such a way, Aevander?" Visenya says with a shake of her arrogant little head. "You are closely related to the King. Our mother served as a Lady in Waiting to the Crown Princess. Those two are barely above smallfolk compared to us. How /dare/ they speak to me in such a manner." She nudges him towards the door with a bump of her hip. "You are drunk. That's why you allow it."

"Yes, and?" Aevander asks with a shrug. "What have we to prove? What is the purpose of being so cutting and inflexible, except to present ourselves as smaller and pettier than we are. We are Targaryens. We are the blood of dragons. Yes. Fine. But if we forget the lords beholden to us, if we demean them, we will sure enough make enemies of them, and that is no pleasant matter. Honey is a better trap than vinegar, my dear. Let them fear us from time to time, but them them admire us more."

"I don't know!" Visenya says with a deepening scowl. "I'm just tired of people doing things to us without retaliation…" And then Visenya does something she never does. She begins to sniffle.

Aevander sighs softly as they arrive home and Visenya seems near tears. He offers the bottle of wine to her and murmurs, gently, "I don't think this is really about Keyte and Kesha Tyrell, is it, dearest?"

Visenya opens up the bottle of wine, and takes a slug from it. She reaches into the pocket of her dress, and wordlessly holds out a piece of parchment. Drawn on it is a rather lewd picture of Visenya riding a dragon. Naked. So very very naked.

Aevander accepts the parchment and opens it up. "Oh, seven," he sighs softly as he looks at the image within. "We will find out who made such a thing and fix it. Until then, the more you let others see that it bothers you, the more likely they are to pay attention to it. You were proud enough to ride the thing. Really, this only bolsters the legend."

"But I wasn't naked…" Visenya protests. She sucks in a quavering breath, and takes another swallow of the wine. "Why does everyone hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you," Aevander replies, "Daevon doesn't hate you. Who hates you, exactly, sister?"

"Cerys." Visenya points out. "Whoever drew that. Mother." She has another big swallow of the wine. "Everyone just ridicules me. I rode on a damned dragon that /everyone/ was afraid of, and they just draw me naked…"

"And who cares about whoever drew that? Mother does not hate you. She loves us all in her strange way. Cerys… I do not know what to do about Cerys, but I will think of something," Aevander replies. "You did ride a dragon, my dear, but you stole away in secret to do it, and nobody could tell why or where you'd gone. If you wanted fanfare, you needed to announce the quest before going on it. You were born to power and glory. If you rub those things in others noses, they may not dare insult you to your face, but they will do so behind your back. It is the burden we all shoulder as Targaryens."

"She hates me because of the way father looks at me." And then Visenya does begin to cry. She lets the tears flow, and has another swallow of the wine. Two swallows of the wine.

"All right, all right, that's enough of the wine," Aevander murmurs, reaching for it. "Only one of us needs a raging headache in the morning, and I've called it. What do you mean? How does father look at you?" He steps up beside Visenya to curl his arm around her.

"…Like…well, like how he looks at the servant girls sometimes." Visenya confesses, and glances downwards in a display of shame that is quite rare for her.

Aevander presses his lips together and then parts them around the mouth of the bottle. It's his turn for a couple more swallows. "Then I am very glad you were sent to Oldtown, sister. Before he went any further than looks."

"Why does no one but my father want me?" Visenya asks softly. "Everyone has always said how beautiful I am… But Daevon does not want me. No Knights or heirs are knocking on my door…"

"Ahh, shh," Aevander murmurs, resting his chin on Visenya's hair. "You will find your match, and so far as I can tell, Daevon does not want any woman. There will be knights and heirs aplenty for you."
Aegon has connected.

Visenya is standing at the entrance of the manse with Aevander crying while her brother rests his chin on her hair and holds her. Aevander is holding a jug of wine in his hand, and seems quite drunk. "I've spent my whole life believing we would be together, he and I…but he doesn't fight for anything, Aevander. Nothing that truly matters to him, that is. He just runs away."

"I know," Aevander agrees softly, his eyes half-closed thanks to the lateness of the hour and the drink. "But he'll learn, my dear. We won't let him runaway, again."

Visenya pulls away from Aevander, and wipes at her eyes. She lets out one final sniffle before asking, "…Where /has/ Cerys been? I haven't heard a peep from her all day."

Just the other side of some doors closeby, there's a bit of a rattle. The tinkle of glass shattering combines with a large whoosh, all chased by the inordinate cursing of a teenaged boy. A lamp has… well, exploded. And Aegon is left to glance at his hand, then peer towards the doorway where he's… well, he's overheard someone out there, but just who is not quite clear, yet.

"Sulking in her bedroom I expect, at the unfairness of it all," Aevander replies with a roll of his eyes. And then there's a crash, and he groans softly. "Who could… Aegon? Is that you? Kindly don't torch the manse, lad, not when the idea of crawling into bed seems so inviting."

Visenya's head turns, and her eyes glint with…something as she realizes that something is on fire. Even the idea of Cerys being exiled to her room can't overshadow the joy of something on fire. "Ohhh, what have you done, Aegon? I'll have to help you put it out…" She lets out a half-hearted tsk, and starts towards the room where the broken lantern is.

Aegon winces at the mess of glass now at his feet, but the call of his Ser is deemed more pressing. He peers around the doorframe, just his head at first, before sidestepping into view. What a way to announce oneself, hmm? "Ahm, heh, uh. Yeah, yes. Pesky lamps, the glass is too thin, can't take the heat of the, ah, sorry, I'm interrupting. Am I interrupting?" Flames are licking at a tapestry on the wall nearby the glass-covered sconce he's just exploded, reflected in his eyes. He seems unconcerned.

"No, no, you're fine," Aevander sighs, peering over at Aegon and then at the fire slowly chewing its way up the tapestry. "Perhaps you'd better put that out though. Are you hurt?"

Visenya walks into the room, not mindful of the voluptuous skirts of her gown in the least. She stops to watch the tapestry burn, but does nothing to put it out, "So pretty…" She murmurs, almost mesmerized.

"Hurt?" Aegon seems confused by that, his features twisting with a puzzled grin. "No, why would I be — oh." The warmth from the lit tapestry touches to his cheeks, most like, and he turns his head to observe his handiwork. Visenya's murmur prompts a self-satisfied little nod from the squire, and he casually jokes back to his knight with his eyes transfixed upon flame, "Must I?" Put it out.

"Yes," Aevander replies, fetching up a pitcher of water set out on the side table for those thirsty in the middle of the night. Or trying to torch the house down. "Allow me." And whether they do or not, he splashes to contents of the pitcher on the flames.

"Ohhh, but it wasn't doing any harm yet!" Visenya protests with a pout. Her proximity to the flames has dried the tears on her cheeks. She inhales the wet, burnt scent.

Aegon sighs, though he doesn't notice Aevander moving for the pitcher. His handiwork, his precious, precious… about to start batting the flames out with his bare hands, the squire is caught in the cross-stream as his knight merrily kills the fire. He freezes, as though turned to ice himself by the splash, save for the repetitive blinking of his blond lashes. "Um." Well, the little blaze is out, at least.

"Sorry," Aevander murmurs as he happens to make Aegon as soggy as the tapestry. "No more fires." He scrubs a hand over his face. "I need to go to bed."

"He means no more fires /inside/." Visenya distinguishes to Aegon. She reaches over to slap some water off of Aegon lightly with her palms.

"This is not ideal," says Aegon, springing to life as he glance between his now-sodden hands. He turns on his heels rather than addressing Aevander over his shoulder, nodding a few times. "Bed, yes. It's late." He does not say, 'no more fires'. Weathering Visenya's drying slaps with a few flinches of his own, he manages to rustle up a grin. "I didn't, I mean, it wasn't meant to explode. The glass is too thin." He understands this much, now.

"Mmmm," a drunk and drowsy Aevander says as he heads for the stairs. "No more fires!" and then he's gone up the steps to sleep off a very large amount of wine.

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