(121-03-22) Head of the Family
Head of the Family
Summary: Visenya makes a grim delivery to Garden Isle Manse. She and Garvin then argue over who is breaking their betrothal.
Date: 22 March 2014
Related: none


Grand Hall - Garden Isle Manse

The first floor's main hall is grand, open room dominated by a massive fireplace and high-arched windows facing the street, protected by heavy iron bars. The white walls and polished white marble floors make it seem airy and bright. The starkness of the walls is softened by three long tapestries, depicting fantastical hunting scenes, while the marble floor is cushioned by rich Myrish rugs.

Down the center of the hall is a long, wide dining table, able to seat thirty comfortably. At the head of the table is an enormous chair of elaborately carved rosewood, with a door behind flanked by two high windows, giving a view of the sunlight gardens. Near the fireplace are smaller chairs, cushioned benches, and small tables for more intimate conversations.

Alcoves and doors at either side of the great hall lead to servants quarters, kitchens, and smaller sitting rooms. At the northwest and southeast corners of the building are square towers holding the stairs up to the floor above, where the bedchambers and other sitting rooms are found.

There are a lot of purple-cloaked guards prowling around the small island, six in the bridge gatehouse alone. However, the bridge watch commander recognizes Visenya and sends two men to escort her to the manse itself, along with any men she brought. Inside the entrance, a page hurries up, bows to Visenya, then leads the way into the grand hall, where Garvin sits before the fire, enjoying a goblet of wine. "If it please my lord," the page says quickly, "the Princess Visenya of House Targaryen." Gavin stands slowly, blinking in surprise. "My lady," he saysm offering a bow. "I had heard you'd returned to Oldtown, and I am grateful for your safety." The page rushes off to get a goblet of wine for her.

Visenya arrives flanked by four men-at-arms in the black and red Targaryen livery, and strangely enough, a Silent Sister carrying a ornately carved wooden box. The Princess is wearing rather conservative clothing, at least for her, a gown of dusky blue chiffon that is made up of line layers but lacks the heavy embroidery she enjoys, and her silvery tresses have been bound into a braided bun and adorned with a jeweled hairband that glitters dimly with dark gems. Appropriate clothing for a funeral or mourning. "Your words warm me, my lord." She says in a banal manner before her eyes flick over to the Silent Sister, and her expression shows true despair. "I came to give you my condolences. To you and your cousins. I'm very sorry." In this she actually sounds sincere.

Garvin chews at his lower lip for a long moment, glancing at the Silent Sister a time or two, but returning his gaze to Visenya. "Thank you, my lady. Your…uncle is a formidable man, while mine was…a very proud man. Too proud, perhaps." The page returns with a goblet of Arbor red, and Garvin gestures to another chair near the fireplace. "Won't you join me for a few minutes? I've only heard rumors and gossip regarding your recent…er, adventure with the dragon." His eyes flick toward the Sister again and the box she holds, a quick shudder running through him.

"Of course I will." Visenya says with a gentleness unusual to her. She takes the goblet, and walks over to the chair to sit near Garvin, "My Uncle is a bit…unusual." She is choosing her words carefully, "My brothers and I do not condone what he did with Ser Corey's remains after the duel was completed. You must understand this. I hope that being able to bury your Uncle will give you some sense of closure, but I understand if it does not." She sucks in a breath at this, and has a swallow of her wine.

"Yes. That was quite the adventure. I heard I missed your first play. What a pity." Her eyes flick over to the Silent Sister as the holy woman wanders off, probably to find a maester to turn the box over to.

Garvin's eyes widen then, turning toward the Silent Sister. "You don't mean that's…?" He shudders again, then quickly guzzles down some wine. "If I might ask, where is the rest of Uncle Corey?" He brings his attention back to Visenya again, swallowing hard. "I heard it said that, when the dragon returned, it was you riding upon it." He leaves out the part about her being nearly naked at the time.

"His head?" Visenya nods with a rather grim look. "I assumed your family had already recovered the rest of him. From what I understand, he is somewhere outside of the city near the Honeyholt." She takes another gulp of the wine to fortify herself. "Ah…yes.." She seems reluctant to talk of the dragon, but this may only be because she has come to deliver such a grim souvenir.

Garvin ohs, nodding slowly, as another shiver overtakes him. "Yes, of course. Thank you for returning his…the rest of him. I know my lord father will be relieved to bury all of his brother together." He drinks again, and the page hurries to refill first Visenya's goblet, then Garvin's. "How um…How did you tame the beast?" Garvin wants to know.

"You do not tame a dragon." Visenya says softly. She glances down into her cup before continuing, "The truth of the matter is our blood calls out to them. Makes them recognize us as more than food. Some grow to love us, and so they let us ride them. They cannot be broken or tamed like a horse or a dog, my Lord."

Garvin wrinkles his nose a bit, nodding once more. "I see. And this one, it has grown to love you then? Why did it drop you in the Sound and fly off without you?" He drinks again, his color slowly returning.

"It does not love me. It just didn't want to eat me." Visenya says, "I forced myself on it's back, and I jumped off of it's back and into the Sound when I had the opportunity. Because I cold not control it." She swirls the wine in her glass, and watches it ripple, "It wanted to be rid of me. I think it may have had a master at one time, as it grew angry when I tried to use my whip on it. But, it does not matter. I did not come back empty-handed, and Daevon now feeds the creature so it won't burn the countryside."

Garvin's jaw drops open again. "Feeds it? You mean to say, it's here in Oldtown somewhere? Does Lord Ormund know? This is…this is dangerous, my lady. Even with it being fed regularly, a dragon in the city is…." He waves his free hand helplessly, unable to find any more words.

Visenya actually laughs a bit at his gaping mouth. "Do you honestly believe we could hide a twenty foot dragon in this city? No. It remains in it's lair far away from the city." She then shakes her head, a look of wonder on her face.

Garvin ohs then, looking relieved. He lets out a breath, then asks, "So Ser Daevon is at this lair, feeding the dragon and keeping it from ravaging the countryside. How far away is this lair? Is Ser Daevon alone there?"

"He is not there all the time." Visenya gives Garvin a look before saying, "You are awfully curious about this, my Lord."

Garvin gives a small shrug of one shoulder. "You and I are to be married someday," he says, taking another sip of wine. "Ser Daevon will be my goodbrother, and Ser Aevander as well. Yours is a formidible family to be marrying into, and I am curious about many things. Speaking of which, my lady mother has written me nearly every day, asking when our wedding shall be. Have you any thoughts on the matter, my lady?"

"I…do not." Visenya says with a frown, and she lifts her goblet to have another swallow from it. "We've only been betrothed a month or two. Surely there is no rush?"

"Oh, but there is," Garvin says, smiling suddenly. "My brother Matrim was grievously wounded in a tourney, and it is not certain he will ever father children. It is important that Highgarden have heirs of the Tyrell name. I must be wed and have a son as soon as possible." He takes another sip, then gestures again. "I was thinking the first of May would be a good date for a wedding."

Visenya any color or blush in Visenya's already pale cheeks fades at the news. "I'm…I'm very sorry to hear of your brother's misfortunes…" Her hands clench around the goblet tightly, "…Surely he will live, and there is always hope?"

Any color or blush in Visenya's already pale cheeks fades at the news. "I'm…I'm very sorry to hear of your brother's misfortunes…" Her hands clench around the goblet tightly, "…Surely he will live, and there is always hope?"

Garvin gives another light shrug, sipping once more. "Anything is possible," he says. "The maesters say he will likely live, but it is not certain he can father children. The Tyrell line must continue. If he cannot father sons, and I do not father sons, it will fall to Laurent, who is already wed. He does not wish to sit upon the Rose Throne though." He cocks his head to one side curiously. "My lady, do you not want your son to be heir to the Reach?"

"Of…course." Visenya says, but it comes out more as a croak than a sound that possesses any confidence. "Which I am sure will eventually happen. But, your Lord father lives still, your brother may be grievously wounded but lives still. Surely there is more time than you think?"

Garvin sips once more, then shakes his head. "Less time than even that," he says. "Uncle Corey was my father's only living brother. His younger brother, my Uncle Giles, died so many years ago at a tourney." He pauses, raising one brow. "If I'm not mistaken, your uncle was responsible for that death as well. It was the cause for Ser Corey to seek your uncle out, which resulted in his own death. That's two of my lord father's brothers slain by your Prince Maelys. How long do you suppose it will be before my own father dies? If not from a broken heart, then perhaps in yet another duel." He shakes his head again. "No, we must be married at once. Even if he does not challenge your uncle, my lord father may use his brother's death as a reason to break our betrothal. We must be wedded and bedded before that can happen. I do not think we can even wait until May. We must marry at once."

"My Uncle's actions do not mean that is my responsibility to produce you a heir posthaste, my Lord." Visenya says with a growing frown. "I am not some broodmare. I am a Princess of Westeros. You would be wise not to forget this, my lord." She draws in a breath, "And why would you suddenly desire a quick marriage when you think your father seeks to break the betrothal? You should be happy. Just recently you would have been glad to have had such a break."

Garvin feigns shock and horror, but he's really bad at it. "Why, my lady, whatever gave you that idea? There is nothing I desire more than to be married to you. And if I may be so bold as to remind you, this marriage was your idea. You sought me out and convinced me to break my betrothal to your dear, sweet sister, Princess Cerys, so that you and I might be married. And you would be wise to recall that it is the duty of every lord in Westeros to father heirs, just as it is the duty of every lady to mother them. Including Princesses, such as yourself. I did not forge the laws of society; I only obey them. If you have some complaint regarding your status as…what did you say, brood mare?" He nods then. "I suggest you take such complaints to someone empowered to change the laws of Man and Nature."

"I agreed to marry you because my sister wept at the idea of it, and my brother had taken vows of chastity he wished to keep." Visenya states coolly. "Since then you have allowed various strange men into your chambers, if the rumors are true, and you flaunt them publicly. You humiliate me, and then you think I want to marry you at your convenience? Your arrogance is astounding." She rises from her seat, and thrusts her cup into a servant's hand. "My condolences in regards to your Uncle. Good day." That said, she takes a step towards her guards to leave.

Garvin rises to his feet as well, his eyes blazing with delight. "Am I to take it then that you refuse to marry me?" he asks, taking a step forward as well. "I can assure you, there have been no men in my chambers, strange or otherwise. It is not always wise to listen to rumors and gossip. But if you refuse to marry me, I suppose I must consider that you have broken our betrothal. I only hope my lord father will agree to whatever compensation House Targaryen offers to forget this grave insult to our family honor. Perhaps he will agree to let me marry Princess Cerys after all."

"Our grievous insult to your house?" Visenya laughs at that, and her laughter rings in the hall. She turns around to face Garvin. "Do not ever make the mistake of thinking you are our equals. House Tyrell only holds the position of Wardens of the South because of House Targaryen. Do you remember what happened to the house in Highgarden before Tyrell?" She purses her lips thoughtfully, and cocks her head, "Oh yes. I remember. My house ended them." She smiles coldly, "I would be careful, Lord Garvin. You do not make demands of the Dragon. You have a powerful vassal, and I believe one of their daughters sits on the Queen's throne." That said, she turns again to rejoin her guards.

"It is done then," Garvin says, nodding. "You have broken our betrothal. Thank you for returning Ser Corey's remains, so dishonorably treated by your lord uncle. I shall be sure to mention your act of kindness when write to my lord father — and yours — tonight." He offers another bow then, to her back, it seems, and watches as she storms from the manse.

Visenya stops, and turns. "Write them." She hisses out, "My brothers have already written to my father in regards to your behavior. But, you have insulted me." There is a pause, "And this insult cannot stand. So, I challenge you."

Garvin stares at Visenya for a long moment, then bursts into laughter. "Insulted you? I believe you are quite mistaken, my lady. It is you who have insulted me, by refusing to be wed, as you yourself promised. But never fear, I shall not challenge you for this insult. That would be most unseemly. Nay, I shall simply suffer it, as I have suffered all the insults hurled at me by your lord brothers."

"I challenge you. On your honor." Visenya repeats. "For your slanders against my brothers. For your insults to me and my house. You may accept this challenge, and if you win I shall wed you. If you do not, however, you will be known as a coward and a craven."

Garvin snorts and rolls his eyes. "A clever ploy, my lady, but it will not work. You have no grounds to issue a challenge. And you will marry me, as your father promised, or I shall be the injured party. I have no need to win any battles, for the right to marry you is already mine."

"Then you are a craven. Dragons do not wed cravens." Visenya states, "Nor do you make demands of dragons. Your insults stem from your arrogance. You do not treat me worthy of my station. If I say I'd like to wait a month a year or ten years until we are wed that is my choice. I am not a common woman I am a Princess of Westeros, and you will address me as such! Do not insult me by calling me my lady again."

Garvin's lips curl in another grin, and he bows low. "As you wish…your Grace."

"The challenge still stands. You are presumptuous, and I will not bear the insult." Visenya's eyes blaze with rage. "Will you accept and pick a champion, or will I write my father another letter outlining your disrespect and cravenness so he may put an end to this farce once and for all?"

Garvin stands upright once again, shaking his head. "As I have said, you have no grounds to issue any challenge, so it is not accepted. Rage all you wish, your Grace, it will not alter the reality of the situation. Please do write your lord father, and I shall do the same. Perhaps you wish to appeal to his Grace, the King, as well?"

"Then you are a craven, and I shall let everyone know. Perhaps even his Grace the King." Visenya says with faint little smile. "Do have a lovely day, Lord Pansy." The last bit is said with scorn. She turns to leave again.

"And you as well, my Queen," Garvin says, bowing once again.

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