(121-03-20) Unwelcome Guest
Unwelcome Guest
Summary: In which two out of three Targaryens completely flip their shit.
Date: March 21, 2014
Related: A Grisly Introduction, The Prince's Fete

With the feast over, and Maelys gone, Daevon goes off in search of his brother.

Aevander is where he can often be found, in the library, reading by the fire.

"Aevander," Daevon says. "Were you aware that we have an Uncle here?" As if he was possible to miss with his huge entourage. "I have told him to find alternative accommodation but we do need to speak."

Aevander glances up. "I had heard," he replies with a soft sigh. "The servants were certainly all abuzz about the mess his… parcel left on the rug in the main hall. Bloodstains and crushed rose petals are not the usual stains one has to remove from it."

"Ser Laurent's father," Daevon says. "We're going to need to speak to him." He frowns.

Visenya steps out of the dining hall, and wanders to the entrance of the library. She leans against the frame of the door, and listens.

"If it was Ser Laurent's father's head on the floor, I presume the time for speaking with him is over. Or… you meant the Thorn, didn't you." Aevander closes his book, tucking it between his leg and the side of his chair. "It was a duel, I am given to understand. The beheading was more bloodthirsty than is fashionable, but our Uncle was within his right to slay the Tyrell lord if it was in an agreed upon combat to the death."

Daevon nods. "Just as Ser Laurent will be within his rights to demand a duel of his own." He sighs. "The beheading, the abandoning the body in a field while carrying the head as if it were a trophy." He shakes his head. "How is such honorable?"

Daevon adds. "It is not that it was a duel to the death. It is the complete lack of respect and the desecration of the body It is act after act of dishonour. And then bringing it here to show our maiden sisters, to terrify our servants, and to provoke the Tyrell's into action."

"Ser Quillian keeps his father-in-law's skull for a drinking vessel." Visenya says with a shrug, "Or so I hear. Yet the Tyrells accept him as their cousin." She rolls her eyes, "Don't act as if you are protecting me in any way, Daevon. You are more upset about it than I am."

"Is is not a thing for Cerys to see though," Daevon sighs. "And so now we compare ourselves to the blackrood." He sighs. "We're never going to stop fighting, are we Visenya? I want to… I want him to just return to exile. I never wish to set eyes upon him again."

Aevander looks over at Visenya, brows lifting. "I never understood that," he says of Ser Quillian. "How can one drink out of a skull, wouldn't the wine all pour out the eye sockets?" He considers. "I will speak to him about Cerys, but I think… I think if he is to remain in Oldtown until he drifts elsewhere, I would rather have him here, underfoot, and know what he is up to than send him off elsewhere and be surprised by it."

"You say that as if I have somehow made you into a victim, Daevon. As if my having an opinion while not trying to simultaneously please you constantly means that we shall always fight. If that's the case then yes. I suppose we always will." Visenya shrugs flippantly, "I like him. And I agree with him. The Tyrells have become too bold. They no longer know their place. Pruning a few of them will hurt nothing."

"Then I will pack my things now," Daevon says. "But I will not reside in a manse with him and his slaves. I will, in no way, be a party to anything he is doing." He shakes his head at Visenya. "I do not see myself as a victim." He turns and walks for the door out.

"Yes! Run away, Daevon!" Visenya shouts at the door, "Run away like you always do when things aren't certain to be /exactly/ as you wish them to be!" She then shouts, louder, "You're the biggest craven I know, brother!"

Aevander quietly lifts a hand and scrubs it over his face before resting his head against the back of the chair. "Well. That went well."

Daevon ignores Visenya, just letting the insults roll off him. He goes upstairs to pack.

"Let him go." Visenya says with a shrug, "He was getting ready to run away again, anyways." She walks over to the table where the wine decanters are kept, and pours out some into a glass, "But tell him if he goes I never want to see him again."

"Perhaps that would be best told to him by you, my dear," Aevander replies as he stands, rolling his neck and setting his book on the library desk before heading out, up the steps and after his (knight) errant brother.

Daevon's looking broken. He steps into his rooms and heads straight for the armour. There's a lot of it, much of it fancy. It's the plain chainmail he picks up though with a sigh.

Valnod was already in the sitting room, one of the ceremonial blades twiddling between his fingers, examining it curiously. The wildling rises, placing it back on its rack as he hears the door turn, then sees the visibly upset Targaryen rush past, following after. "Dae-von?"

Visenya follows Aevander up the stairs with her wine glass in hand. She finishes the contents by the time they are up the stairs and into Daevon's room. The empty glass will be hurled at the wall. SMASH.

Just a typing night at Chez Targaryen, folks! Aevander steps into the room. "Daevon," he says gently, "stop a minute, brother. Talk to me."

Daevon ignores the smashing. He's packing his things, methodically. He's done it so many times before. Just what he needs with nothing else. There's nothing smashable in his rooms. "Valnod." He greets. "We're leaving." He stares at his brother. "You would have a man who was exiled stay here. You would have a man who did those things under this roof. You would let him keep his slaves. You would defend him and his actions. I will not be party to any of this. I am leaving."

"Let him go!" Visenya rages from the doorway. "Let him run away like he always does! Do you hear me?" And then the volume increases, and her voice becomes more shrill as she screams, "GO! GO AND NEVER COME BACK! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"

And then something in Visenya cracks. She lets out a sound of anguish, and she lets out a sound of anguish. "I'm not speaking in jest. If you go don't come back."

Valnod's grip is back on the blade, ceremonial or not, the wildling's entire form tensing at the smashing of crystal. He composes himself, then, awkwardly replacing the dagger as he nods to his chief. "Yes. What animal take?"

"He is here now, and not likely to go away, even if we turn our backs," Aevander points out, "and if he is to stay in Oldtown, he will make trouble. Turning away from him means he will likely make more. So yes, I would have him under our roof, for our own sakes, not for his. And I would have his entourage here, too. Think about it, Daevon. I know you feel for their plight. I know you would like to offer them some means of aid. Do you not think walking away and refusing to engage with this would be less helpful than being present and helping these souls as you are able?" Aevander closes his eyes a moment as Visenya screams, but he's witnessed her storms before. Sometimes, they simply need to rage themselves out.

"What would you care?" Daevon's voice is quiet. "You hate me anyway. Everything I do is wrong. I am tired." He looks at Aevander. "No." Just that one word. "He was exiled. I refuse to welcome him back with open arms and I will not live under the same roof as him." He then answers Valnod. "We take them all."

"It's late. Daevon. Wait until morning, if only for the horses sake," Aevander offers, "and give me a chance to at least talk to the man. It is not so black and white as you make it, things are not all either-or."

"You're right. I hate you. I hate you for constantly abandoning your family when they need you." Visenya says in an equally exhausted tone, "I hate you for making me believe you were coming back for good. I hate you for letting everyone believe you are a hero when you wouldn't do a damn for Aevander, or Cerys, or me when it came down to it!" She shakes her head, "You can't change his mind, Aevander. Let him go. Let him run. But I will not have him in my presence again."

Valnod nods at his instructions, then frowns deeply, the wildling crossing his arms as he regards the other two Targaryen siblings. "Daevon say tired. Want space, yes?" He asks in a soft rumble.

"Then I'd better leave quickly least they all be asleep and I have to camp out at the doorway. I will not be able to sleep here knowing that you're harbouring that butcher here," Daevon says. "It is black and white. He killed my friend's father. He is now going to duel my friend. How would you feel if someone lopped my head off, left my body to rot and then used my head as if it were a plaything? It sickens me. It sickens me that you are both defending him." He sighs at Visenya. "I did not come back." He points out. "You all followed me here. And since when have any of you needed me?" He nods at Valnod. "Yes."

Aevander pushes a hand through his curls. "I would not like it. Perhaps I would demand a duel of my own in honor of your memory and get my own head lopped off. I did not say I find our uncle honorable. I did not say I want him here. But we cannot loose a tiger on our doorstep and pretend it will simply wander off in a direction away from all we hold dear. You, among all of us, are the one most likely to best the man or to defend those he might consider hurting. But, instead, you wash your hands of it at leave."

"We'd do more for you than you've ever done for us." Visenya says with a little shake of her head. "And keep saying none of us ever needed you if it soothes you and makes it easier for you to abandon us. Cravens and cowards use such mechanisms all the time." She casts a look at Valnod, "If your creature touches me I will have /his/ head cut off."

Valnod's eyes narrow. "Creature?" He shakes it off, flashing a false grin. "Dae-von want space, he say. Talk different time, yes?" The giant crouches, bringing him roughly eye level with his chief's twin.

Daevon's eyes narrow at Visenya, and in there there's an anger that burns, white-hot. His temper rages, silently. He's barely holding it together.

Aevander turns to regard Valnod. Quietly, calmly, he orders, "Step away from my sister." With a glance to Daevon he adds, "You are right, we came to you. You never returned to us. Yet, that still does not give you the right to leave."

Visenya stares into Valnod's eyes a moment, her own dark with rage. There is a faint tilt of her head to the left, and then she lifts her hand in an attempt to deliver a backhand to Valnod's face.

Daevon knows his twin. He's glaring at her. The moment she begins to lift her hand, perhaps even before it he's moving, stepping between the pair, grabbing hold of Visenya's wrist. "Don't you dare. You know if he does anything to stop you the consequences will all be on him."

"Then perhaps you should not lead your… companion to believe he has any right to attempt to intimidate, let alone lay a hand on a princess of Westeros," Aevander replies as Daevon intercepts what could, potentially, be a bit of a disaster. "Enough, now. You," he jerks his chin towards Valnod, "step back. Daevon, Visenya, enough."

Valnod starts to move his head back, rising back and away a half-step, but not completing the motion before Daevon has intervened. His fingers curl and uncurl, regarding Aevander with a look of contempt. Then he looks to Daevon searching for some signal before shrugging, stepping back.

"Of course you care more about him than us. Than me." Visenya says simply. And then she lifts her other hand to try and slap Daevon across the face.

"Valnod. Get out of here now." Daevon orders. "Go to the horses. Get them ready. Now. Just go. Go." Is that fear in his voice? And something in Daevon just snaps. Completely. It's a surprise that it's not audible, that sound of something within him breaking. All the anger, all the frustration, all the doubts, the insecurities, the despair. Everything comes crashing down on him. He stands there, wavering between anger and despair. He lets Visenya slap him.

Aevander is silent for a beat as the crack of Visenya's palm against Daevon's cheek seems to echo off the walls. Then he sucks in a slow breath, places a hand on each of the twins shoulders and says, quietly, but with utter solemnity and conviction, "Stop this. Now."

Valnod's fingers go to the handle of his own modest long-dagger at the sound of that slap, tensing, his eyes widening as the wildling watches the attack. Then he relaxes, hands lowering, shoulder slumping as he nods, "Will prepare horses." He agrees, stepping past the other two Targaryens with no more notice paid, walking to the stables.

"Visenya, you're a bitch." It's anger that wins out. Red hot. "Is it any wonder I don't want to be around you?" Daevon asks. "You have very little pleasant to say about anything. You have the blood of the dragon in your veins. At any point you could have left. You could have went in search of me, or a dragon, but you chose not to. That's your fault, not mine. I was meant to stay and let Father continue beat me until there was nothing left? No. I was meant to stay and fuck my sister. No. Of course I left. I'm not sorry. I don't regret it. I would do the same again. I hate being around both of you. I hate the arguing. I hate the fights. I hate how you both do everything in your power to make me feel absolutely worthless. Well mission successful." He does let go Visenya's wrist. "I hate how you call my friends animals. I hate how you treat people as if they are worthless. I hate how you speak to me."

"You're right. I am a bitch." Visenya then laughs at what he says next. Bitterly. "Yes, Daevon. I could have left! I could have taken all of the skills taught to me and left. Ah…what were those skills again? Oh. Right. Dancing. Needlework. Etiquette. How long do you think I would have lasted on my own, Daevon? I wasn't even out there on my own for most of my last journey." She shakes her head, "You think you were the only one getting beat? How do you think I feel being told that my only purpose is to produce children for you, Daevon? To be your wife? Never anything for myself!" She lets out a little sob, "Don't you dare! Don't you dare act like you are the victim in this! You were given a means out and you took it over and over again! I never had a way out so don't act like I did." She wipes at her cheeks. "And don't act like Aevander treats you badly! Aevander is better than both of us put together! Just admit it. Just admit that when no one agrees with you or does exactly what you want you run away."

Aevander is quiet for both the condemnation and the praise, choosing to hold his tongue as the twins air their grievances with each other.

"Which skills were taught to me, Visenya?" Daevon asks. "Praying? Praying I'd get better. Praying that I'd be healthier." He sighs. "I'm not a victim. We got the same treatment. I never had anything for myself either. I was to be your husband. I was never meant to be a Knight. Father did everything in his power to ensure I'd be dissuaded from such ridiculous notions. I made my own way out amd yes it cost almost everything. And finally, I'm finding a place that is starting to feel like home, and we're rebuilding bridges and you go and invite a fucking monster to stay here."

"You still had the option. You were still born with that little thing between your legs that somehow magically lets you have more control over your own life." Visenya shakes her head. "What would have happened if I had picked up a sword? If I had ridden off to Dorne? What would have happened to me, Daevon?" She sighs, "Aevander is right. If we keep him under wing we can control what he does. Everything I have done last night and today was to keep Ser Laurent alive, and you do this to me."

The anger's fading already and while there's much more he could say, he chooses not to, only adding. "Much of the same of what happened to me, I would imagine." Daevon shakes his head. "I will not sleep with him here. Keep him under your wing." He sighs. "I cannot sleep with him here."

"why not?" Aevander asks gently. "He is an affront to you if he is here or if he is at the inn, and the distance between one end of the manse tot he other is nearly as large as the walk to said inn." An exaggeration, perhaps, but… "You will hear nothing of him if you do not wish it."

"And if he chooses to act against one of us you are one of the few warriors I know who could stand against him." Visenya says. She squeezes her eyes shut briefly. "I'm sorry I hit you. I'm sorry I hit your servant."

"He is rich." Daevon says. "He keeps slaves, including cooks who are in at all of our food. And guards. And the Tyrell's loathe him and despite him being outcast here we are sheltering him here. I will not be party to that. I never suggested he stay in an Inn. There are other manses. Let him live in one of them. I will dream of him but I will not sleep. Him killing me. Me him. The black dragon devours all in its path turning it to ash. It coats us all in our dust blocking out the light. I will hear plenty of him. He is not the type to be silent." He sighs. "Would you have me kill him now? Should I champion Ser Laurent and then we can just have done with it?"

Daevon looks at Visenya. "I do not care that you hit me. I do that you hit Valnod, for such could result in his death. I would not have that on my hands."

"Perhaps you should fight him, though I am not sure kinslaying is any less a sin than keeping captive cooks," Aevander replies, looking from one twin to the other. "And what manse would you put him in? Who should house the man if not his own family? He is our trouble and our responsibility. He should not be left for another family to manage. Let me talk to him. His entourage in extraneous here, perhaps I can convince him to turn them loose."

"He could rent a house of his own," Daevon points out. "Why need he stay with anyone? He was exiled." He shakes his head. "I'm getting a headache. I'm going to go." He grabs his bag. "If you need me I'll be at the Hightower."

"You complain that you feel as if we make you so small, but you do not value anything we say nor do you ever compromise." Visenya sighs, and shakes her head. "Go. We'll deal with it." She lets out an exasperated sigh. "I need a glass of wine. Aevander?"

"We need you," Aevander replies, "but you'll be at the Hightower. Good night, brother." He looks to Visenya and nods. "I'll join you. We can discuss what's to be done with this uncle of ours."

Valnod slips back away when he hears voices approaching, going back to fastidiously grooming horses.

Daevon continues with his packing. He's going to need to wake the servants up or carry everything himself in several trips. He's looking defeated, tired in fact. With Visenya gone, at least for the time being, he sets those amethyst eyes upon Aevander.

Aevander has stayed and watched as his brother packs, though certainly he doesn't lift a hand to help or offer to fetch any servants to make the task easier. He regards his brother when Daevon looks at him and asks, quietly, "What are you thinking, right now?"

Daevon sighs, trying to choose his words carefully. "I am thinking this is it. Farewell." He sighs. "We would not even be friends if we did not share blood. I am thinking it a sad thing when an exiled Prince is welcomed with open arms and a blind eye turned to his crimes. I am wishing that I was as mad as the rest of them for then this would not bother me so much, I think."

"I do not want it to be farewell," Aevander points out, "and though we may not share all the same values, I think we would be friends, regardless of blood. You can be dismissive as I am, brother, only you name it 'honor' when you protest and 'callousness' when I do. I put my family first, and you are part of it. I value you more than a lady bravo or a wild man. Is that so villainous?" The other Targaryen leans up against the wall of the room. "You say we welcome him with open arms as if we have some other choice. As if turning away from him and crossing our arms would simply make him vanish."

"He was exiled, Aevander," Daevon says. "And for good reason. Yes, we do have a choice in the matter. He has little right to set himself and his slaves up in this mansion. He has spent twenty years without our name. He does not return for family reasons. Let him, and his slaves, take a manse of their own. Let us distance ourselves from his crimes. You can still keep an eye on him. And I won't wake up in cold sweats with dreams of his blood on my hands." He sighs. "Valnod would have been murdered if I had not stepped in. Men who treated him worse than they would have a dog with little regard to his life. They beat him. They laughed at him, and they were in the process of killing him. It was touch and go for weeks. And you treat him as if he were an animal too." He sighs. "I can't be party to such abuses. I can't turn a blind eye to them. I don't think you villainous."

"Yes, he was exiled, but for whatever reason, he has decided to return to Westeros. I will write the king and our father to inform them, and perhaps they will send men to run him back to Essos," Aevander answers. "Until then, if we send him away, we alienate him, and we will know nothing of what he intends. As for Valnod, his survival is all well and good for him, but I don't see why it obliges him to follow you around. He clearly knows nothing of how to behave in a city if you have to have a debate over whether or not he should wear clothes. And you let him intimidate Visenya. If you did not fear for his wellbeing, I am not sure you would even care if he tried to strike her."

"He intends to do some research in the citadel," Daevon says. "And to collect some favours he is due." He shakes his head at Aevander. "He would not have struck her. Of course I care for her wellbeing." He sighs. "If I send him away will you send our uncle away?"

"No," Aevander replies, "because our uncle is more dangerous than your ill-spoken giant. 'Favors' and 'research'. And what does that, mean, exactly, mm?" He considers. "If you will send the wildling away, I will do my best to convince Maelys to free his slaves."

Daevon sighs. "You will do your best regardless. So no. I may as well get my duel with him over and done with."

"Ah, grand," Aevander replies dryly, "so he will die, in which case I will have quite the mess to clean up, or you will, in which case I have lost a brother. I tell you what. Why don't you stay and I'll duel him?"

"I do not kill unless I have to," Daevon says. "And I've little intention of dying yet. You have other, better brothers, regardless. And no, you will not duel him for that is certain death."

"You have other, better brothers," Aevander returns Daevon's words to him, "and I would prefer my death to yours. Besides, if you're slain, I shall have to avenge you and I'll die, anyway. At least this way, when you avenge me, you'll likely do it properly."

Daevon shakes his head at Aevander. "No I don't. No better brothers than you for all we argue. I would not see you die. I know that you mean well for all that we are so different. Perhaps, if I'd been able to stomach the first Knight I was sent to I would have been more like you. If I had done other than running away. You've seen the worst that knights do, have you not?"

"I don't know, I have not seen much. I have seen knights without chivalry, but the worst? Perhaps not." Aevander steps closer to settle a hand on Daevon's arm. "Then do other than running away now, brother," he urges gently. "Stay. I will find you someone with medicinal and mystical wisdom to make you something to stop the nightmares."

"Some are cruel," Daevon says. "War brings out the worst in people yet at least there was a cause other than monetary gain." He looks at his brother. "And even then I had little stomach for it. I even ran from the war. Visenya's right, I am craven, but fortunate with it. It's not even fear that drives me, that at least would be understandable. I will not stay under the same roof as he does. I will not take any potions to silence the dragon within."

"Then what drives you?" Aevander asks, "and what will it change, to sleep under a different roof than the man? If he has committed atrocities, did it matter than he committed them so far away from you? Is the only act of dishonor you abhor the one you are obliged to witness?"

"The Maiden," Daevon says. He shakes his head at Aevander. "To share a roof with him is sanctioning what he did. I cannot do that. It is an insult to the Tyrell's to provide shelter for one who desecrated the body of the Lord Paramount's brother and who speaks of butchering them all. It is embracing his return from exile. It is condoning his actions. Of course his crimes matter. Do not think I am turning a blind eye. But if I remain here I will likely kill him in a fit of rage, or he me."

"No, Daevon, it is not. It is keeping family politics private and not laying them out for all on the street to watch," Aevander replies. "The Tyrell demanded the duel, and I have heard Ser Thorn speak just as viciously of the Dornish as you claim our uncle spoke of the Tyrells. Nobody is going to butcher anybody."

Daevon sighs. "As you say. And I've been doing everything within my power to prevent a massacre of the Dornish too."

"Yes," Aevander replies, "and all while staying under this roof. So can't we carry on with that?"

"No." Daevon says. "This place is not home anymore. I will not stay here. I was growing too settled, too comfortable anyway. It will be better as a guest at the Hightower."

"Ah, of course," Aevander agrees, "The Maiden forfend you ever become settled. You're right, you didn't come to Oldtown for us. And once you have found your Valyrian steel, you will not stay for us, either, will you? You will be off again to wherever the winds pull you." He draws in a soft breath. "Well. So be it. But until that day could could you not, just this once, choose us over your own calling?"

"You followed me here," Daevon says. "You invited a monster to stay in the place I was calling home." He shakes his head. "I care not for the sword, for all it plagues my dreams. Have the coin, have the sword." He shakes his head. "Not on this subject, no. Not when you consider his presence here so important. I have stayed here though Visenya destroys my possessions and I fear for the safety of any guests I may invite to visit. I have stayed here through all of the upsets with Cerys and the servants gossiping. I have listened to criticism after criticism calling into question everything I am, everything I have done. I'm leaving now."

"I did not invite him, Daevon. I did not write to wherever his was on the other continent and try to entice him home. He is not here at my request," Aevander replies, frustration peeking through his carefully calm tone, "He has come because he has come, and now that he is here, he must be managed. So, yes, he will be sleep here so I can best know what he's about. And I will stay though Visenya may shatter the rest of our glasses and though Cerys may weep buckets and rail at the cruelties we and the world seem bent upon inflicting upon her. I will stay for all I am criticized for trying to keep us from crumbling apart. Enjoy your righteous freedom, brother. I have said all I can think to say. Clearly, it is not enough."

"And when his slaves have all ours made miserable through their actions?" Daevon asks. "When they take over the kitchens yet again? When they find more foul things to toss around." He sighs. "You can't fix what is already so broken, brother. It's crumbled, smashed to pieces already."

"The point in managing him s to prevent that from happening," Aevander replies. "He may be crass and he may even be mad, but I doubt our uncle is a fool. If he wishes the comfort and prestige of being our guest, then he will fulfill the expectations laid down for him, among which will be not upsetting the staff or our sisters."

"Right," Daevon says. "Well so be it. I hope it all works out as you plan. As I said I'll be at the Hightower. I'll be back tomorrow to get the rest of my things and bid goodbye to Cerys."

Aevander only sighs softly and shakes his head. "Will you," he replies, sounding unconvinced. "Well. Then thank goodness for valyrian steel, or I doubt you should stop riding when you reached Battle Island."

Daevon grabs his things and walks out.

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