(121-03-21) To Find The Truth
To Find The Truth
Summary: In which three Targaryens and a Martell finally do something.
Date: March 23, 3014
Related: Of Honor And Principles

As far as prisons go, the Hightower is a very fine one, but for Tameron Sand and the other Dornish, it is a prison none the less. The morning draws late, and the recently-annointed knight has been up for hours training, having breakfast, speaking with the others in his party and assuring himself that Ser Osric's wife and children have all that they need. Now, he has slipped away into one of the demure meeting rooms that, never the less, has a window. The protective shutters and the glass have both been opened, and the young man sits on the wide inner ledge, looking out at the drizzling sky and the way the drops of rain ripple into the water below.

Daevon's finally made his way into the Hightower. He's a little bedraggled but has at least managed to get most of the straw out of his hair. A morning spent thrashing the target dummies with his sword has at least done something for his mood as he tries to find out which of the many, many rooms and suites are his. Maybe he should have asked for directions?

Tameron lifts his head as Daevon peers into the room he happens to be hiding in, if only in hopes it might be a bedroom. Then he looks back to the window… and jerks his head back to look properly at Daevon as his mind registers just who is peering in from the doorway. "Ser?" he queries. "Is all well?"

"I'm lost," Daevon admits. "Drop me into a forest in the middle of nowhere and I'll find my way out. Put me in a tower though, or a city, and I can't seem to find my way around. I'm sure I'll find my rooms eventually. How're you?"

"Trapped," Tameron replies with a small shrug. "Your rooms?" He frowns a little, thick brows starting to bunch together. "You… are stay at the Hightower?"

"For now," Daevon says. "I suppose they've had to scramble to find some suitable rooms." He sighs. "Hopefully you'll be able to leave soon enough."

"But…" Tameron's mouth hangs open a moment before it closes again and he swallows. "But, ser, did you not receive my letter?"

The letter? Daevon's atrocious at reading letters. Which letter? Realisation dawns. "Oh." He sighs. "I spoke to him. There's Targaryen guards on the street now who're doing what they can to discourage people. He won't leave."

"I know he won't leave," Tameron agrees, one hand pressing down on the window ledge until his fingertips begin to turn white. "Ser Osric is completely bullheaded when he thinks he's doing what is right. But I thought… at least, if something happened, it would be two skilled knights, and not just him, alone."

Daevon sighs. "I wouldn't fight them, you know. Not with swords. I couldn't. I've still little understanding of why he insists on staying. I even missed when you were escorted here." He sighs. "There are guards on the street with instructions to ensure that the peace is kept. They're a prominent reminder."

Tameron regards Daevon in silence before looking back out the window and away from the other knight. "I see," he offers, flat and quiet.

Daevon sighs and there's nothing he can say that won't sound like an excuse.

Damn right! At least in Tameron's mind. He's still watching the rain when he asks, "What brings you to the Hightower?"

Daevon sighs and moves closer to the window. "The views?" It's phrased more as a question than a statement though. "So, you'd have me go back, sit on the doorstep and wait?"

Ashara does not care for this captivity thing. At all. On the other hand, she doesn't care for running away, either, so here she is. She's taken steps to subdue some of her wardrobe, though there are still flashes of Martell colors in her gowns, enough to remind anyone that she's Dornish. Captivity does not suit her well, though, and so she often paces through the halls. That's her current occupation, steps carefully measured.

Tameron and Daevon are in one of the smaller meeting rooms off the main halls, distinuishable by the fact that the door to said room is ajar and there are quiet voices within. "Well, you wouldn't have to actually sit on our doorstep. That might be too much," Tameron allows a little grudgingly.

Daevon's looking somewhat dishevelled as if he slept in his clothes, in a stable, and then spent the morning, in those same clothes, hitting things with his sword. He likely hasn't slept well from the looks of him either. "I would sit inside with Ser Osric then?" Daevon asks. "Where all who knew of my presence would see it as political support from the Targaryens?" He sighs. "I failed already by not being there when you were all arrested. I do not understand why he remains, knowing the cost it may have. Is it because if he is there, providing a target, they are less likely to try and storm the hightower seeking their answers here?"

"And there's to be no political support from the Targaryens?" Ashara asks as she steps into the sitting room, arching a brow at Daevon. "My, my. And here I thought the Dragonlords didn't care for vassals who thought they could decide the policy of the realm themselves. How…surprising."

Tameron pushes to his feet when Ashara enters the room so that he can offer her a small bow. "Highness," he greets. To Daevon he replies, "I did not think the Maiden's Knight had a care for politics. What does it matter why he is there? He is there and he will be the masses' scapegoat, and he is too good for that to be his end. I never should have left."

Daevon shakes his head at Ashara. "I did not say that." He sighs. "It matters because he chose to be there. It matters because…" he sighs, shakes his head, he's looking weary. "No. I do not like politics. I don't understand politics. I rather despise it. I do what is right, not what is political, and I act on my own behalf not in the name of my family." Hence why he never wears Targaryen colours and his coat of arms doesn't incorporate theirs. "Please, continue to…" he sighs, shoulders sinking.

"Hating politics is foolish, Ser Daevon," Ashara chides, though there's a more gentle note to her voice than before. "Whether you love them or you hate them, they exist, and as a Targaryen, you will be a part of them. Better to be the one in control of where you sit than to be someone else's pawn." She reaches a hand for Tameron's shoulder, reassuring. "You did what you thought was needful, Tameron. Ser Osric is the Sword of the Morning. He knows what he's doing."

"Foolish would not be the worst thing I have been called this week or even day," Daevon admits. "I know." He sighs. "It is easier to not deal with politics when you're on the road with a sword in one hand, a shield on the other, and your foes are so easy to identify. This though is politics and there's nothing I can fight to remedy matters. I've been trying to do what I can." He looks at Tameron. "He would not have allowed you to stay. You did what was right. It was a hard decision to make, but the right one. He was forever grateful that you were here in his stead, to look after those he loves."

"Princess, all due respect for your wisdom, but I am not sure he does know," Tameron replies with a small, sad smile, "or, rather, he knows he goes to his doom and has accepted it. I have not accepted it." To Daevon he says, "then you would not have stood with Ser Osric as a member of your family but in honor of your own principles and reputation, ser. And as you have chosen not to do so, it must be that you do not agree that he should have protection."

Ashara looks between Tameron and Daevon for a long moment, dry. "Well, perhaps the two of you can sit here and mourn. I can leave if you'd like to weep over things that have been done rather than consider what might be done in the present?" Not that she seems inclined to. "Ser Daevon, if you believe something is right, then do it. That is the gift of your family and your freedom. Is it a risk? Yes. But I've never known you to shy away from a risk. And Tameron, do you think Ser Osric would ever have wanted you to sit and mope over him?"

Daevon shakes his head at Tameron. "It is not his doom to be there. It is his choice, for whatever reasons he has. Do you think we of House Targaryen will allow for rioters on our street? Do you think we will allow for any fires to be set regardless of how thick the walls might be? Such things have a tendency to spill over. The number of Targaryen Guards both outside our home, and on the street, have been increased. Their very presence provides an oh so strict reminder to the populace to behave. And they are under orders to keep an eye on your house." He considers Ashara's words. "Unfortunately, what feels like the right thing to do is to investigate the truth of what happened. Were the Blackmonts to blame? Why was there a Dornish woman in their presence? Had they abducted her or was she there willingly? I would send a small delegation to investigate under an oath that you would return with the truth. I would lead that delegation myself, but I'm terrible at politics, and if they are to blame it would be ridiculously foolish to provide a Targaryen hostage to them."

"No, Ser Osric would just have me martyr him," Tameron replies a little bitterly. He glances over at Daevon and shakes his head. "Well, it's a choice I would take away from him. I am not sure guards are as intimidating as you home, ser, though I would like them to be. The guards surrounding us when we rode to Hightower as supposed prisoners were not enough to stop a riot."

"It's easier for one man to escape notice than an entire household," Ashara shakes her head to Tameron. "And you'll find no neutral investigators here," she snorts softly at Daevon's suggestion. "Did you not see the men who returned from the first investigation? They have it in their heads that we have wronged them and scheme to do more, and nothing they find will disprove that. Even if someone else came forward, they would insist that it was only possible through the assistance of Dornish."

"Those were not the guards of House Targaryen," Daevon points out. "And they were not guarding an almost empty house. I do not expect them to stop a riot, just one from erupting on the street I…" oh wait he moved out. He almost forgot that. "My family lives." He amends. He nods at Ashara. "I know." He sighs. "What would you do?"

"Then someone independent must look for the truth," Tameron replies. "Someone unaffiliated with the Tyrells or the Martells." With a glance to Ashara, he adds, "That would be so, princess, if Ser Osric were trying to escape notice."

"I would speak with a Targaryen who does deal in politics," Ashara answers Daevon, dropping into a chair and lounging comfortably there. "Because I find it shocking that you would allow your vassals to attempt to drag you into war with another sovereign nation without so much as a slap on the wrist. Raids are one thing. We all know those are going to happen. But wholesale slaughter, and imprisoning members of the royal family? Those are both beyond the pale."

"I agree," Daevon says to Ashara. "My sister Visenya, or my brother Aevander." He offers. "I'll summon them at once."

Tameron, feeling suddenly conflicted, politely excuses himself from the room to stare broodily out at the rain from another window.

Daevon has issued a summons to both his sister and his brother, in case one chooses not to come. He sighs at Ashara's words. "I had not thought of things that way. I knew it was wrong. I thought that I was biased. I am sorry that I did not think to do anything more."

Daevon and Ashara are in a meeting room, in the Hightower, to which the messenger will lead Aevander and Visenya.

"I don't think I can blame you," Ashara shakes her head to Daevon, letting out a slow breath. "It's clear that no one else in charge here thought of it that way, either. The young Tyrell lord has something to prove and chooses to do so over us. The Hightowers are his vassals, and the best they can do is mitigate the damage. If you ask me, the Tyrells think themselves over mighty. And my mother is an Yronwood," she adds with a brief, rueful smile. "Believe me when I say I know about over mighty vassals."

Visenya arrives without Aevander. She is accompanied by her own men-at-arms in Targaryen livery. She wears the high-collared jeweled black and red gown she favors when she wants to be overly remindful of her status as a Targaryen Princess. Still, her expression is warm when she greets Ashara, "Princess." She murmurs as she approaches the Martell. Daevon does not get that same warmth. "Brother." She says somewhat flatly, and with a stiff nod.

Aevander arrives a few minutes behind Visenya. He's all in black, though he's usually all in black, though he has (perhaps as a bit of an afterthought) tied a red sash around his waist so that instead of just being all in black he's in Targaryen colors. Stepping through the doorway of the little meeting room, he offers the princess a small bow. "Princess Ashara, good afternoon," he greets. Daevon gets a nod that's just a hair on the cooler side of polite.

"I thought that my own personal dislike of that Tyrell Lord was influencing me negatively," Daevon says. "I know little of politics. I had not even thought he had the authority to do what he did. After the first time, the guards surrounding the white door manse forbade me entrance." He frowns at this. "The Hightowers themselves do not want war. Even the Lord Paramount does not want war. The Targaryen's most certainly don't." He nods at Visenya and Aevander in greeting.

Ashara rises as the other Targaryens arrive, though she nods rather than make any further show of obeisance. "Prince Aevander, Princess Visenya," she greets with a small smile. "Thank you for coming. And Princess, thank you for support when the investigation party returned," she adds as she settles back into her seat as Daevon speaks. "It seems to me, then, that the Hightowers want war, and if those above them do not, then perhaps it is time there was some…discipline administered."

"The Tyrells do not want war." Visenya says, "The Tyrells want to do as they please without consequence to their lieges. The Tyrells want to prove that they are equal to the Martells. Even equal to the Dragons." She pauses, "The Hightowers are their vassal, it is true, but they control one of the most richest cities in Westeros. The Queen is a Hightower. It is not in Targaryen interests to indulge these overly proud stewards. These stewards who owe their position on us. Nor is it in Targaryen interests to allow them to disrespect the Tyrells, who are beloved by the King." She glances to Aevander, "What say you, brother?"

Aevander finds a seat to settle into as Ashara and Visenya each speak. "I think Lord Garvin Tyrell certainly wishes for a life with no consequences, though I cannot say if his attitude is that of the majority of them. I have found Ser Laurent to be a more reasonable sort in general, though what he wants, and what the Cockshaws want, is vengeance. I do not believe they act in order to grab power but in order to assuage their own fury and grief. Wickham's Nest was razed, Princess. If such a thing was done with Martell knowledge or sanction, that is an act of war. The Targaryens have no interest in a second war with Dorne, but neither will we shy away from one brought to our doorstep. This is why understanding the truth behind the slaughter at Wickham's Nest is essential. A house, or a group from a house gone rogue is one thing. A carefully planned and strategic attack that was known by the Dorne's leaders would be another."

Daevon's already in, well over his head and while he's just about following things there's such intricacies of the situation that he just didn't understand.

"And I tell you what I have told others," Ashara shakes her head to Aevander. "If such an attack was planned, it would have been planned by my father, with the authorization of my aunt. And neither of them would have done so knowing that they each had two children resident in Oldtown. Not without at least warning us," she adds, dry. "Besides, what would be the benefit in attacking Wickham's Nest? Think what you wish, but we aren't aimless murderers."

"Ser Viggo wants vengeance against those who are responsible for the act. Blackmonts, I believe…?" Visenya does not sit. She paces as she thinks and speaks. "And the Martells cannot turn over a whole vassal house for Reachman justice. What would their other vassals think?" She bites down on her bottom lip, "Princess Ashara, they believe a woman was involved in this. Either she was taken or she went willingly. Do you by chance know of any Blackmont woman who would be willing to be entertained by Cockshaws? One with a jealous husband, perhaps?"

"I do not think anything, princess," Aevander replies, "I am only explaining the precariousness of the situation from our standpoint." Aevander glances over at his sister as she speaks and looks back to Ashara. "I propose you choose a small group of men. Ones with cool heads, quick minds and fine tracking skills. I and several of our guards will escort them from Hightower to the edge of town when it is dark, that they may go an investigate the question. I will send a third group, affiliated with neither Dorne nor the Cockshaws, to begin a search of their own for this possible Blackmont woman. Let us hope between what your people find, my people find and the Cockshaws found, a whole picture can be formed."

Daevon shakes his head at this. "The tracks will all be long since gone. Too much time has passed. And I do believe that the previous trackers found all there was to find, even if their conclusions were not neccessarly correct. I would suggest finding the woman, and investigating the Blackmont's directly. We've no authority in Dorne though. The raiders took jewelry. That may be identifiable if they don't melt it down. I'd ask for a list of anything that might be identifiable and look for it."

Ashara considers Visenya's question, thoughtful. "I'm afraid I'm more familiar with eastern Dorne," she says slowly. "And I'd like to think that we're more sensible about our women than to go slaughtering an entire manor out of jealousy. But my mother still has connections in those areas. I can write to her and see if she's heard any rumors that would suggest something like that." There's a spark in her eyes at Aevander's suggestion, though she doesn't jump on it immediately.

Visenya finally looks to her twin, "Daevon, you must investigate whatever it is that there is left to find. Aevander…Aevander must remain in the city to keep me in check. I am so insulted that if it were left to me I would have dragons flying over Hightower to remind those arrogant, jumped up roses who their masters are." Her voice quavers slightly in rage.

"An entire hunting lodge is not burned to the ground for no reason. Something warranted this attack in the minds of those who called for it," Aevander replies. He nods at Daevon's words. "I know the tracks are long gone, but questions remain unanswered. Retracing the path from Wickham's Nest through the Red Mountains may be the best way to uncover it. If there were any witnesses to the trip there or back through the pass, they must be found and questioned." He looks to Daevon and then Visenya, offering a small nod in support of her words and a hand that reaches out to touch hers as her voice begins to tremble.
Daevon has partially disconnected.

Daevon nods at Visenya's suggestion. "I'm more use out there." He says. He then looks to Ashara. "Who would you suggest comes with us?"

Ashara turns a wry smile on Visenya. "I am completely behind that plan, princess," she agrees before looking back to the others. "I can write to my mother to look into the issue from the Dornish side, and my father to speak with his lieutenants, in case any have grown…restless. As far as who would be of use in the search itself…" She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Well. You'll first need to convince the Hightowers to release any of us. But Arros and Osric would both be useful. And if you took Osric, then it might be enough to draw him out of his self-imposed station at the manse."

"If I had tamed the Whoremaster they would not have a manse left in the city after last night because I would have burned it to the ground." Visenya says through gritted teeth to Aevander. She makes no remark to the actual plan.

"I do not think dragon fire is precise enough for that, my dear," Aevander teases with a faint smile. But, to Ashara he says more somberly, "Leave the Hightowers to me, and I will speak to Ser Osric as well. Two of your men, my brother and perhaps Ser Jaremy Strickland to round out the group. There can be no argument that what was discovered was biased if all parties are represented." Glancing at Daevon he notes, "Perhaps leave your wildling behind on this one, brother. He is too notable, and discretion will be a boon, I feel."

"Not convince, inform," Daevon says. "They have no say in this matter. I'm loathe to leave Mariya behind although I know she is close to her sister." He looks between Visenya and Aevander, asking the latter. "What would you say of Ser Jaremy Strickland?" But no sooner than he's said it he frowns. "Although with his reputation he may not be the wisest of choices for a journey into Dorne. Still he does know the area, and he's of the Reach so they might believe him above those who are not."

Daevon smiles as Aevander echoes his thoughts on Jaremy. He nods at this then states. "I'm asking Eonn. You will ensure that Valnod does not come to any harm if he remains behind? I had not intended to bring him."

"As much as all of us would like to leave this place, I doubt there is an argument to be made for either myself or Mariya to go," Ashara shakes her head slightly to Daevon. "And besides, our best skills are in dealing with people, which we can best accomplish here. Being our charming, non-threatening selves," she adds with a sharp smile that doesn't really convey 'non-threatening.'

"I don't need to be precise. There are a lot of them, and I am angry." Visenya murmurs hotly to Aevander. Her brothers' decisions are met with silent approval, and a nod of her head. "We should post guards at the Hightower to protect the Dornish. Make it known that they are under our care, and will not be harmed without consequence."

Aevander presses his lips together at the thought of babysitting a quasi-incoherent wild man, but then he sighs softly and nods. "If he can keep himself civil and refrain from attempting to intimidate family members, then I will vouch for his safety while you are gone." He smirks over at Ashara and laughs softly. "I feel less threatened already," he teases, bemused. For Visenya's words, Aevander considers. "As far as the general populace knows, the Dornish are here as prisoners. Sending Targaryen guards to keep watch may not only give an impression opposite of support, but it would imply that we do not think the Hightowers capable of defending their own fortified keep. However, I do think we might lend the princesses a small and speedy servant who could be quickly sent to the Dragon Manse should things turn sour."

"I wouldn't argue," Daevon says. "I would simply inform them you were coming. I'd rather have you with me than Ser Jaremy." He admits. "You would have been my first choice of who to bring. I'd want those skills of yours with me. Still, you're right, you may be needed here."

Ashara watches Visenya for a moment, a faint smile lingering. "You should come and visit more often, Princess," she suggests, smile growing. "I think we might become great friends." At Daevon's words, she shakes her head, leaning back into one corner of her chair. "I've no skill at tracking, and I doubt the Tyrells or the Hightowers would be inclined to let me go without putting up a fight. I'd rather this group truly have a chance at success than that I should get out of these walls."

"Your lady Bravo is still in the house." Visenya points out to Daevon, "But I shall watch out for her while you are away." She nods to what Aevander says, "You're right. We don't want to insult the Hightowers when they are not in the wrong in regards to this." Ashara earns a surprised look, and a faint little nod, "Perhaps when this mess is cleared up, Princess."

"We'll have traditional trackers," Daevon says. "But we're looking to do a different sort of investigation than just following trails that will long since be cold. You're good with people, which is something that I'd far rather have at my side. And you're female, we're looking for a woman, there are things women tell other women that they'd never speak of with a man. You've ties to the area through your mother. If not you then I'll ask for Mariya, but I'd rather you. Or if you can suggest someone else with your talents."

"No princesses, for their safety as well as for the viability of this whole venture," Aevander argues with a shake of his head. "If you insist on a woman, take your pretty bravo along. Or just ask Ser Arros. As I understand it, he is very familiar with a multitude of women."

Daevon scowls at Aevander's response. In fact he glares, his amethyst eyes hard. He agrees to nothing.

Ashara arches a brow slightly at Aevander, though she doesn't question his statement. "Prince Aevander is…most likely correct," she agrees reluctantly. "Believe me, I want very much to be out of this place. Or at least out from under the thumbs of these people. But I've been too public in this conflict already. I am the face of the Dornish in the city, and if I'm seen leaving, then it will look as though we're all being given free rein. And I can't recommend that you take Mariya, either. She's sweet, but I think you will likely find things on this search that she isn't prepared to handle. Ellia would suffice, except that she's not likely to leave her children behind, and if you take Osric, it's too much from the family." She shifts in her chair, drawing one knee up toward her chest and chewing at the side of her thumb as she thinks. "Of course, if you were taking us to a parley with representatives of the Dornish throne and happened to follow the path of the attackers on the way…"

"Enough." Visenya says gently to Aevander. "If Daevon wants one of the Princesses to go then we must trust him in this, and support what he says. He knows more of this than we do." Then her attention turns to Ashara, "A parley would be risky. Daevon could be made a prisoner or made a hostage again."

"This is getting too complicated," Aevander argues with a shake of his head. "A small party of experienced travellers, all who can protect themselves, one who knows the border well. If we try to make it any more intricate or an excuse to move the princesses elsewhere, it will waste too much time and become convoluted. The surest way to regain calm in Oldtown is to solve this mystery and bring those accountable to justice. Please. Let's just focus on that."

"You're right," Daevon seems more inclined to agree with Ashara than with Aevander. His eyes spark at the suggestion of parley though. "I need a Dornish woman in my party." He states again. "It doesn't need to be a Princess, but I need someone otherwise we've little chance of success." He looks at Visenya, surprised, then back to Aevander. "We're looking for a woman who may or may not have been abducted. If she was kidnapped and raped then they're not going to be inclined to tell a group of men her whereabouts. We're not going to be able to pick up gossip or have access to things that women do. I'd be more than willing to just have a parley. I don't like sneaking."

Ashara is quiet as she works through possibilities, moving the pieces on the board like a cyvasse game in her mind, gaze distant. "Ser Daevon has a valid point," she says slowly. "You do need a woman, and it should be someone who can speak comfortably with people. I am," she notes with a look to Aevander, "Capable of protecting myself, by the way. And, perhaps more usefully, capable of treatment if anyone is injured in the search."

"I could go with." Visenya suggests suddenly, "I can be charming. When I want to be."

"You can," Daevon smiles at Visenya. "But you can't be Dornish." He nods at what Ashara says as she finally echoes what he's been trying to say.

Everyone's gathered in a meeting room, speaking. The presence of Targaryen's is obvious what with their guards and all.

"Your bravo could be both," Aevander points out. "Why not take her?"

Ashara seems to have decided that discretion is the better part of valor at this point, and declines to get in the middle of an argument between dragons. Not that she isn't watching.

Visenya also says nothing. Instead, she lets her brothers work it out.

"Do you need a map, brother?" Daevon asks. "Do you need me to point out how far Dorne and Braavos are from each other? Just because some people can't tell the difference, doesn't mean that there isn't one. That's like suggesting there's no difference between Targaryen's and Lannisters since we both have pale hair. Anyway I've made my arguments. Perhaps it will be a moot point anyway. Should we go speak to someone about this?"

A corner of Aevander's mouth quirks upward bemusedly. "I was not suggesting she came from Dorne, only that she should be able to fake it if nobody looked overly close. If we put Cerys in Lannister colors in a town where nobody knew her name, I expect she would be mistook for one, as a pale woman in Lannister colors is more likely to be a Lannister than a Targaryen playing pretend. Put your bravo in Dornish garb, and the dress combined with her complexion will have people presuming she is Dornish. You will be riding with other Dornishmen. They could teach her what bits of the culture she would need to know to pass as one for a few days."

"And this is the less complicated version of the plan?" Ashara chimes in with an arch of her brow. "I could just as well pretend to be no one of note, with no coaching required," she points out.

Visenya smiles a touch at Ashara's quip, and nods her head to what the other princess says. "Indeed, brother. And, what will the people know of the Dornish Princess missing when presumably she is locked up in a cell below the Hightower?"

Daevon laughs at Ashara's comment. It seems like he's nothing more to say though.

Aevander quirks a brow but puffs out a small sigh of defeat. "It would be safer for the princesses and less likely to make the entire investigation suspect from the point of view of the Tyrells, Hightowers and Cockshaws," he replies even as he holds up his hands. "But it seems I am outnumbered. I still think it is an ill idea, but if you all insist on a princess in the search party, so be it. I have lodged my protestations."

"I hold some doubts about my relative safety here," Ashara points out with a brief smile, starting to unfold from her chair. "But I appreciate your concern," she adds, dipping her chin to Aevander.

"And you think it is safe for them here?" Daevon asks. "Any investigation will be suspect regardless. It is for our own peace of mind though."

"They have two other Princesses to keep who are higher in the line of succession." Visenya notes. "It will be fine."

"As you say," Aevander replies pushing to a stand. "Then I will go and find Ser Osric, if the three of you will tell the Hightowers what is to be done. Safe travels brother." Then, a touch wryly, "And you, Princess."

"We should likely do this the other way," Daevon suggests. "With me speaking to Ser Osric and you speaking to the Hightowers. Still, if this is the way it is to be."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License