(121-03-23) Departing the Dragon Door Manse
Departing the Dragon Door Manse
Summary: Daevon awakens Rona to inform her why he is leaving the manse.
Date: 121-03-23

It's ridiculously early hour in the morning, when all sane people are asleep. Of course no one ever accused dragons of being sane. Daevon's packed his things, he's ready to leave, and there's now just this final matter of Rona to attend to. He doesn't want to wake her, but he can't leave her, can he? Not without at least an explanation. And so he knocks lightly on her door.

Rona is the type to awaken at a moment's notice, ever alert. She slips out of bed silently, clutching the dagger she keeps under her pillow. Moving to the side of the door, back to the wall, she opens it slightly to peek outside, only to meet violet eyes gazing back in the dimness. "Daevon? Wh-…" Her brow lifts in surprise. She had hardly expected him the type for a midnight visit.

Daevon's dressed for going out, not for midnight dalliances. "I'm leaving." He says. "Probably going to the Hightower. I'm already packed. I'm sorry to wake you but I couldn't leave you. Not without an explanation."

The surprises just keep on coming. "Come in," Rona insists, opening the door wider. Now the knife can be seen in her hand, but aimed well away from him. "Tell me what is happening."

Daevon doesn't show the slightest bit of surprise at the sight of the knife. He does come in as she asks him to. "My Uncle, Maelys, has returned from exile." He sighs. "And taken up residence upstairs. He brought with him a large number of slaves, and the head of Lord Tyrell's brother, which he gave to his jester to use as a marotte." He sighs. "My brother and sister believe it is best that he stays. So I'm leaving."

Rona's eyes go wide in shock, and she double-checks the door to make sure it is firmly closed. "That is grotesque!" she hisses. "And slaves? This is wrong. This cannot be allowed." She strides to her bedside, pulling her dark tresses free of the bun she bound them in to sleep. Depositing the knife on the bedside table, she reaches under the bed for her traveling pack.

Daevon nods in agreement. "I won't stay here. Remaining here would be sanctioning what he has done. I told him to leave. Aevander wants him to stay though." He sighs. "He was exiled. He should not be here. Messages have been sent to the King but still. I'm a craven and a coward, apparantly." He frowns. "But I'm moving to the Hightower. Now. I do not wish to remain a moment more than I have to with him here."

Rona whirls with a fire in her eyes. "You are no craven," she says in challenge, her eyes snapping to the door as if whomever said so were right there. "But running is not enough. Slavery is an abomination, and those slaves must be freed." There is a quiet fury in her movements as she hurried packs her things. "I am going to dress," she says, and it's all the warning she gives before pulling her nightdress up.

Daevon nods, turning around to provide Rona what privacy he can. He doesn't even try to sneak a look. "It is." He agrees. "And we shall right that abomination. But I'm too angry just now. I'd just skewer him. And like it or not, exiled or not, he is a Targaryen."

"I could do it," Rona says flatly. "I would not be a kinslayer. It is poetic for a slaver to die by a Braavosi blade. My own ancestors were slaves, do you know?" She hurries to cover herself enough for the knight's honorable gaze, donning trousers and one of her loose, billowy blouses. "You may look," she informs as she sits on the bed to tug her long, leather boots on.

Daevon turns around when he says that. "You could." He agrees. "But you would then be named as one who had killed one of the Targaryens. Exiled though he may be, my family are still protective of their own. His entourage is large and he does have men with swords amongst it. There was at least one who looked as if they were from Braavos too."

A darkness fills Rona's eyes just then. "A Braavosi, condoning slavery? Even if I do not kill your uncle, I will kill any Braavosi that stands with him. Disgusting." She finishes lacing up her boots, then takes up her swordbelt, strapping it around her waist to don Maiden's Kiss.

"I may be wrong," Daevon says. "It may have just been the clothing. Are you ready?"

"I will still kill him, if he shames my culture," Rona says venomously. She takes up her vest, but decides to simply stuff it into her bag and get on the move. "I am ready. I am with you, Ser Daevon."

Daevon nods. "Thank you. It is good to know that, Rona." He sighs. "There's a confession I need make. Not related to this. One I should likely have given before. It can wait though. Just… remind me." And then he's heading for the door.

Rona arches an eyebrow at him, curiosity burning. But the present circumstances are more pressing. "Alright. Let us go. Do you expect trouble on the way out?" Her hand rests indicatively upon the hilt of her sword.

Daevon shakes his head. "No. I don't expect any trouble at all." And indeed there is none. He's not taking all his things with him, for what it seems. Just the bare essentials. He can always return later.

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